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EUROPA; 

OR, 


NOTES OF A RECENT RAMBLE 


THROUGH 

ENGLAND, FRANCE, ITALY, 

ANI) 

SWITZERLAND. ^ 


By DANIEL c/eUDY, 

II - 

AUTHOR OF “ LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN,” “ HEROINES OF MISSIONS,” 
“ BURMAN APOSTLE,” “ANGEL WHISPERS,” ETC. 


L OWELL: 

NATHANIEL L. DAYTON. 


1 8 5 2 . 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 

% 

DANIEL C. EDDY, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


V 

-— r 

foikX'lr* 


STEREOTYPED AT THE 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDltY. 




m 



TO 


HENRY A. MILES, D. D., 

A M> 

4 

TWO OTHER F E L LOW- TRAVELERS, 

€ljis 'RnlmiiE is iiriiirnitii, 

AS A REMINISCENCE OF OUR PLEASANT TOUR, 


AND 


AS A TESTIMONIAL OF RESPECT. 









































































































■ 






. 


5 




! 
















































PREFACE. 


When I returned from Europe, a few months 
ago, I had no idea of making a book, or adding 
to that very questionable department of American 
literature known as “ works of travel.” The 
residence of a few months in any country does 
not give one such a full and perfect idea of the 
people as will enable him to advance opinions 
which will be of any considerable value to his 
readers. And yet he must be a dull scholar if 
he does not learn something which he can present 
in a way which will make it interesting and prof¬ 
itable. If he sees and hears independently, and 
without prejudice, his criticisms will not be entire¬ 
ly worthless. He will at least give an idea of the 
way in which his own mind was impressed by 
what he saw and heard ; and though he might not 
be able to give a perfect view of the real condition 
of society, he will be able to sketch its outlines, 
and perhaps enter slightly into its details. 

As a man who gazes upon a beautiful cathedral 
for a short time onlv will not be able to describe 

V . * 

A * 



6 


PREFACE. 


every particular defect and excellency of the ar¬ 
chitectural design and finish, but will carry away 
with him a general outline of the whole, and 
perhaps a distinct impression of some peculiar 
feature, either of beauty or deformity, so the 
traveler who passes hastily through a country 
may give the impression which he received from 
his stand-point of observation which will enable 
the reader, in comparing his views with those of 
other visitors, to form a more correct estimate of 
the great temple of the world than if he had not 
written. 

While in Europe, I endeavored to see and hear 
for myself, and judge independently of any previ¬ 
ous prejudice. In giving names, dates, times, and 
distances, I have doubtless fallen into some errors, 
which the reader may correct at his leisure. I 
have also, in some few instances, been presump¬ 
tuous enough to predict events, which the uncer¬ 
tain future, in its waywardness, may never bring 
to pass; and I leave time, the rectifier of all 
errors and the reformer of all abuses, to read the 
proof of them. 

As I have written for my own personal friends, 
and the members of my own congregation, and 
as the first edition of the work will be almost 
entirely private, I have allowed my own peculiar 
theological sentiments to creep in now and then, 
more or less, for which I do not feel disposed to 
oifer apology or crave pardon. 


PREFACE. 


7 


If it be said that I have used the names of men 
freely, and commented upon their modes of living, 
or style of public speaking, too fully, I have only 
to say, that I have illustrious examples in those 
English and French clergymen, statesmen, novel¬ 
ists, and poets who have journeyed in America 
as long as I remained in Europe, and w T ho, on 
returning to the old world, commented as freely, 
and judged as hastily, as any writer on this side 
of the ocean could do on his return from the 
scenes of grief and glory beyond the deep. I 
have endeavored to be just; and if telling the 
truth about a nation is offensive, why, let the 
people do as the pope does — proscribe railroads, 
and, as far as possible, keep all foreigners away. 
If England is ashamed of her gin palaces and her 
starving thousands, let her shut up the former 
and redress the wrongs of the latter. If France 
is ashamed of the coup d’etat of her “ prince 
president ” — the democrat with a broken and out¬ 
raged constitution beneath his feet—the Catholic 
with the shame and guilt of perjury on his soul, 
let not seven millions of voters indorse his course, 
and by their noiseless influence sustain his infa¬ 
mous usurpations. If Italy is ashamed of her 
bones and beads, crosses and cardinals, her 
sovereign, with his tiara and his dandy guards, 
let her enslaved thousands rise and be men 
again, as were the people of Rome, when even 




8 


PIIEFACE. 


# 


Paul could boast that he was a citizen of that 
once favored, but now fallen city. 

The reader will perceive that a considerable 
portion of this work was written before the late 
important changes in Europe, and the whole was 
completed while those changes were taking place, 
and when their results could not be known ; and 
still the traveler asks, “ Watchman, what of the 
night ? ” for no morning has dawned, and nought 
but faith can see a star shining amid the muta¬ 
tions and revolutions of the land to which, to-day, 
all eyes are turned in deep solicitude. 

But patience, man ! to-morrow will come ; and 
such a morrow! Heard vou not how blood 

j 

makes fat the soil, and bones enrich the earth ? 
Know you not that freedom’s tree shall grow 
greener yet, where blood flowed fastest and men 
died freest? Hath none ever told you, and have 
you never read, that “ God is in history ” ? 

To the kindness and generosity of my friends 
I am indebted for the tour which I have made : 
I am grateful. To my traveling companions I 
owe much of the pleasure and success of my 
undertaking: they are thanked. To God belongs 
the praise for a safe return : it is acknowledged. 


CONTENTS. 


i. 


INTRODUCTORY —THE VOYAGE. 


Early Desire to travel 

Page 

. 25 

Man in Gray 

An old Book 

25 

The Hungarian 

The Studies of late Years 

. 25 

The Variety 

The ideal — the real . 

26 

Sabbath Days . 

Sad Parting — glad Welcome 

. 26 

Dr. M.’s Sermon . 

The fine Ship 

26 

Sea Storm 

Sea-sickness . 

. 27 

Incidents 

Passengers .... 

28 

Amusements at Sea 

The Calvinist . 

. 28 

First Sight of Land 

The Mirth Maker 

29 

The parting Hymn 

The steady Man 

. 29 

On Land again . 


II. 

LIVERPOOL. 

Objectionable Practice . 

. 36 

Massive Buildings 

St. David’s Church 

36 

Birkenhead 

Dr. M’Neile’s Church 

. 37 

Chester 

An eloquent Discourse 

38 

Railway Station 

The Docks 

. 39 

Railway Travelling 

St. James’s Cemetery . 

40 

The Country . 

• 


III. 


MANCHESTER. 


Recognized as Americans . 45 Cotton Factory 
Public Streets ... 46 Factory Schools . 


2 



10 CONTENTS. 


Boarding Houses 

• 

48 

A Hack Ride . 

50 

Machine Shop 

• 

49 

The Cathedral 

50 

Sick Box 

• 

49 

Peculiarities . 

52 

Operatives . 

• 

50 

A Night Ride 

53 



IV 

• 



BIRMINGHAM. 


First Impressions . 

• 

54 

John Angell James 

58 

Papier Mache Works . 

• 

55 

His Sermon, 

59 

Electro Plate Works 

• 

56 

Ignorance of American Habits 

60 

Town Hall . 

• 

55 

Ignorance of American Geog¬ 


Splendid Organs 

• 

56 

raphy . 

61 

Grammar School . 

• 

56 

Kenilworth and Warwick . 

62 

Statue of Nelson 

• 

57 

Dudley Castle 

63 

St. Martin’s Church 

• 

57 





V 

. 


GENERAL 

VIEW 

OF LONDON. 


Arrival .... 

• 

64 

Christ’s. 

76 

Looking for Apartments 


65 

Temple .... 

76 

Extent of London . 

• 

67 

St. Clement Danes . 

76 

Streets 


68 

St. Margaret’s 

76 

Parks .... 

• 

68 

St. Martin-in-the-Fields . 

76 

Public Gardens . 


68 

The Thames 

77 

Monuments 

• 

69 

Thames Tunnel 

78 

Amusements 


69 

Smithfield .... 

79 

Bank of England 

• 

70 

Cock Lane .... 

79 

British Museum . 


71 

Billingsgate 

80 

St. Paul’s Church . 

• 

73 

Covent Garden . . . 

80 

St. Mary Woolnorth . 


75 

Newgate Market 

81 

St. Mary-le-Bow 

• 

75 

Little Girl .... 

82 

All-Hallows 


75 

An old Lady 

82 

St. Giles, Cripplegate 

• 

75 

An Incident .... 

83 

St. Sepulcher’s . 


75 

Starvation and Poverty 

84 


VI. 

INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 

Origin of it . . .85 Mr. Paxton . . . .86 

The Building ... 85 Grand Opening . . . 91 





CONTENTS. 

11 

The Koh-i-Noir 

. 93 

Indian Traps . 

. 100 

Models 

93 

Page’s Oars 

100 

Knitting Work 

. 94 

Men in Soap . 

. 100 

Machinery . 

95 

Abuse of America 

101 

Carved Work . 

. 95 

The Virginia Reaper 

. 101 

Electro Plate Work 

9G 

Clinton Carpets . 

102 

Bible Exhibition 

. 96 

The Clipper . 

. 102 

French Department 

9G 

Bobbin Machine . 

102 

Other Contributions 

. 97 

The Lock Picker 

. 103 

American Department 

98 

Concert in the Palace . 

103 

Carriages 

. 99 

Attendance 

. 105 

Machinery . 

99 

The Productions . 

106 

Daguerreotypes 

. 99 

The next Exhibition 

. 107 

Greek Slave 

. 100 




y ii. 

MINISTERS OP LONDON. 


Church Service 

. 109 

Hon. and Rev. B. W. Noel 

121 

Clerks . 

109 

Change of religious Sentiments 121 

Singing 

. 110 

Style of Pulpit Address . 

122 

Sextons . 

110 

Rev. Henry Melville . 

124 

John Gumming, D. D. . 

. 110 

The Golden Lecture 

124 

James Hamilton, D. D. 

114 

Lothbury Church 

124 

Rev. R. W. Overbury . 

. 115 

Cardinal Wiseman 

12 G 

Rev. Edward Irving . 

115 

Caricature of the Cardinal 

127 

Thomas Chalmers, D. D. 

. 115 

Controversy with Dr. Cummin £ 

127 

Formation of the Scotch Church 11G 

Dr. Doyle .... 

127 

Exeter Hall Discourses 

11G 

The Pontifical 

128 

Rev. William Brock 

. 117 

Exposure of Artifice . 

130 

Rev. Joseph Beaumont 

119 

Dr. Croly .... 

131 

Rev. Thomas Binney 

. 119 

Rev. Charles Stovel . 

131 

Rev. George Smith . 

120 

Robert Montgomery 

131 

Surrey Chapel 

. 120 

Rev. William Chalmers 

131 

London Missionary Society 

120 

Comparative Eloquence . 

131 

Rev. William Jay . 

. 120 

* 


• 

VIII. 


X , 

BUNIIILL 

FIELDS. 


Nonconformist Ministers 

. 132 

Rev. Samuel Wesley . 

132 

Mrs. Susannah Wesley 

132 

Rev. John Wesley 

133 


12 

CONTENTS. 


Isaac Watts, D. D. . 

133 

Adam Clarke, D. D. . 

134 

John Gill, D. D. . 

. 133 

An Anecdote 

134 

John Owen, D. D. 

133 

Rev. Richard Watson 

134 

Rev. Richard Price 

. ia3 

Chamber in which Wesley died 

135 

Rev. George Burder . 

133 

Whitefield’s Tabernacle 

135 

Rev. Nathaniel Mather . 

. 133 

Melancholy Memories 

135 

Wesley’s Chapel 

Charles Wesley . 

134 
. 134 

Trust in Providence 

135 



IX. 


ROYALTY 

AND 

ARISTOCRACY. 


High Life and Low Life 

136 

Buckingham Palace . 

139 

Queen Victoria 

136 

St. James’s Palace 

. 140 

Prince Albert 

136 

Lambeth Palace 

140 

Prince and Princess of Prussia 

137 

Apsley House 

. 140 

The royal Children . 

137 

Northumberland House 

140 

Royal Annoyances 

138 

Hon. Abbott Lawrence . 

, 141 

The Duke of W ellington . 

138 

A W alk in the Rain . 

141 

English Nobility . 

139 




X. 

WINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 


Splendid Apartments at Wind¬ 

Residence of Lord John Rus- 


sor Castle . 

143 sell .... 

145 

St George’s Chapel . 

143 The great Grape Vine 

145 

Cenotaph of Princess Char¬ 

The old Palace 

145 

lotte ..... 

144 The impudent Barber 

146 

Alexander Pope’s House 

145 The outwitted American 

146 


XI. 


PARLIAMENT 

— TOWER — 

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 


House of Commons 

. 148 

The Commons 

149 

House of Lords . 

148 

The old Tower . . ♦ 

150 

The Throne . 

. 148 

The Murder of Nobles . 

151 

The Woolsack . 

148 

The Crown Jewels . 

152 

Ecclesiastical Title Bill 

. 149 

Attempted Robbery 

153 

Wellington’s Speech. 

149 

Lasting Impressions . 

153 



CONTENTS. 

13 

Westminster Abbey 

. 153 

Chapel of Henry VII. . 

154 

Royal Coronations 

153 

The English Service 

155 

The old Chair 

. 153 

Death’s Lessons to Royalty . 

155 

The Poet’s Corner 

154 

The Place for a Friar 

155 



XII. 



MEN AND 

THINGS. 


Fashionable Parade 

. 156 

English Dress 

158 

English Ladies . 

156 

Conformance to Custom 

159 

American Ladies . 

. 157 

Family Government 

159 

Englishmen 

157 

The Englishman’s Nobility 

160 

The Use of false Hair . 

. 157 

Exceptions 

160 


XIII. 



PRISONS —RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 


Politeness of the Police 

161 

Mr. Greeley’s Comparison 

166) 

Old Bailey .... 

161 

The Street Fight . 

166 

London Courts . 

162 

Sabbath Schools 

166 

Newgate Prison . 

162 

Mr. Noel’s Sabbath School . 

167 

The Chapel 

162 

A contemptible Remark 

167 

The condemned Chair . 

163 

Gin Palaces .... 

167 

The Place of Execution 

163 

Their Adornment 

168 

The Ragged School 

163 

The Customers 

168 

Government of the Schools 

163 

The Woman and Babe 

168 

Mischievous Children . 

164 

The two little Girls 

169 

The Handkerchief 

164 

The old Man and his Wife 

169 

Field Lane . 

164 

The young Man . 

169 

Ragged School 

164 

The ominous Threat . 

170 

The Prayer Meeting 

165 

Drinking Children 

170 

The Scholars 

165 

Diluted Liquor . 

170 

The Dormitories . 

165 

Rum Drinking in America 

170 


XIV. 


REFORM AND 

DEFORM 

— PEACE CONGRESS. 


The Cause of Temperance 

171 

Meeting . 

172 

Habits of Clergymen . 

. 171 

The Sabbath School 

. 172 

Temperance Meetings 

171 

English Anti-slavery . 

172 

Denunciatory Speeches 

. 172 

American Slavery . 

. 172 


B 


14 CONTENTS. 


Discourteous Remarks 

173 

Prospects for the Future 

178 

The Invitation 

173 

Peace Congress 

179 

Freemasons’ Hall Gathering 

173 

The silent Prayer 

179 

Hon. Horace Greeley’s Speech 

173 

Sir David Brewster . 

179 

Reception given to Americans 

174 

Speech of Richard Cobden . 

179 

Rev. John Burnet 

174 

Military Fortifications 

180 

Mr. Hanson’s Speech 

175 

A. Coquerell 

181 

Caste of Color 

176 

M. Girardin 

181 

Caste of Birth . 

176 

Letter of Carlyle . 

181 

Religious Reforms 

177 

Letter of Victor Hugo 

183 

Union of Church and State 

178 

Impracticables 

184 


XV. 

LONDON TO PARIS. 


South-western Railway 

. 186 

The English Channel . 

187 

Persons in the Cars . 

186 

The Town of Calais 

188 

Arrived at Dover . 

. 186 

New Scenes, strange Sounds 

188 

The old Fort 

187 

Cars on French Railroads . 

188 

Poor Debtor’s Box 

. 187 

The French Pie . 

189 

The famous old Gun 

187 

An American at Table in China 189 



XVI. 


VIEW OF 

PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 


Arrival at Paris 

. 190 

Infanticide 

196 

A Morning in Paris . 

190 

Hospitals and Asylums . 

196 

Men of France 

. 191 

St. Vincent de Paul . 

196 

Women of France 

191 

Convent Life 

196 

Houses in Paris 

. 191 

Law and Order . 

197 

The Boulevards 

191 

National Prejudice 

197 

Places or Parks 

. 192 

Waterloo .... 

198 

Place Vendome 

192 

National Forbearance . 

198 

Place de la Concorde . 

. 192 

The Catholic Religion 

198 

Luxor Obelisk . 

192 

Notre Dame .... 

199 

Place de la Bastille 

. 193 

The Revolution 

199 

National Falsehood . 

193 

The late Archbishop 

200 

The Cafes . 

. 194 

The Tomb of the Austrian 

200 

The Morals of the City 

194 

Ecclesiastical Habits 

200 

The Marriage Relation . 

. 195 

The Day Dream 

201 

The Contrast 

195 

The Madeleine 

202 

Outside Appearances . 

. 195 

A splendid Service 

203 






CONTENTS. 

15 

The Pantheon 

. 203 

Chapelle Expiatoire . 

205 

Tomb of Rousseau . 

204 

The Widow Capet 

206 

Tomb of Voltaire . 

. 204 

The Duchess of Angouleme 

206 

The Bones of Marat . 

204 

The Chapel of St. Ferdinand 

207 

Adolph Monod 

. 205 

Duke of Orleans 

208 

M. Coquerell 

. 205 

The Count of Paris 

208 

Wesleyan Service 

. 205 





XVII. 



PARISIAN 

LIFE. 


Champs Elysees 

209 

The Hippodrome . 

. 213 

Sabbath Parade 

. 210 

The Balloon Ascension 

214 

Gambling . 

210 

Theatrical Exhibitions . 

. 214 

The out-of-door Opera . 

. 210 

Chateau des Fleurs . 

214 

Quietness and Sobriety 

211 

Public Gardens 

. 215 

The Lower Classes 

. 212 

Good Nature 

216 

The Wife . 

213 




XVIII. 



OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 


The Triumphal Arch 

217 

Divorce of the Empress Jo¬ 


Pere la Chaise . 

218 

sephine .... 

224 

Striking Feature . 

218 

House of Josephine . 

225 

Tombs of Abelard and Heloise 

219 

Vestiges of Revolutions 

226 

Tomb of Marshal Ney . 

219 

Marat’s House . 

226 

Chapel for Burial Services 

220 

Charlotte Corday . 

227 

A Funeral .... 

220 

House of Admiral Coligny 

228 

The Morgue 

221 

St. Bartholomew’s Day . 

228 

Two Bodies .... 

221 

Duke of Guise . 

228 

The Dead-cart . 

221 

Princess Lamballe 

228 

The Hotel des Invalides 

222 

Cases of Suicide 

230 

Napoleon’s old Soldiers 

223 

Bibliotheque Royale 

231 

Jerome Bonaparte . 

223 

Great Picture of the United 


Joseph Bonaparte 

223 

States Senate 

231 

Tomb of the Emperor . 

223 

Opinion .... 

232 

The Gobelins . 

224 




16 


CONTENTS. 


XIX. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON 

AND FRENCH POLITICS. 


Louis Philippe . 


233 

The Election 

256 

Lafayette 

• 

233 

Extraordinary Language 

257 

Ledru Rollin 


234 

The Catholic Religion 

257 

Lamartine and Barrot . 

• 

234 

State of Society . 

257 

The Revolution 


234 

Popular Education 

258 

Flight of the King 

• 

235 

Pure Religion 

260 

Duchess of Orleans . 


235 

Forty-two thousand Priests 

260 

Count of Paris 

• 

236 

Romanism .... 

260 

Duke of Chartres 


236 

Episcopacy and Monarchy. 

261 

Captain Dunoyer . 

• 

237 

Character of the French 

261 

Lagrange .... 


237 

Paris rules the Nation 

262 

Marshal Gerard 

• 

237 

Public Buildings . 

262 

A Butcher’s Boy 


238 

Palace of Tuileries . 

262 

Son of Marshal Soult . 

• 

239 

Fontainebleau 

263 

Theodore Lebran 


240 

St. Cloud .... 

263 

Louis Napoleon 


240 

Versailles .... 

263 

Louis Bonaparte . 

• 

240 

Long-established Prejudices 

264 

Hortensia Beauharnais 


240 

Political Millennium 

265 

Duke of Montpensier . 

• 

240 

The Ballot Box . 

265 

Insurrection at Strasbourg . 


241 

A Republic .... 

265 

Insurrection at Boulogne 

• 

241 

A Kingdom 

265 

Virtues of Louis Napoleon 


242 

Hungarian Independence 

266 

His Morals . 

• 

243 

An enlightened Calvinist . 

266 

The Press .... 


243 

Spies and secret Officers 

268 

The public Voice . 

• 

243 

Marseillaise Hymn 

268 

M. Kossuth 


243 

The Orator .... 

269 

First of December 

• 

245 

Washington 

270 

General Bedeau 


245 

Sidney. 

270 

General Changarnier 

• 

245 

Cromwell .... 

270 

General Cavaignac 


246 

Mirabeau 

270 

Colonel Charras 

• 

246 

Madame Roland 

270 

Mademoiselle Odier . 


247 

Camille Desmoulins 

273 

Archbishop of Paris 

• 

247 

His dying Thoughts . 

271 

The famous Proclamation . 


248 

Danton. 

271 

Address to the Army 

• 

248 

His Address to the Execu¬ 


Address to the People 


250 

tioner .... 

271 

Decree of the Chamber 

• 

252 







CONTENTS. 17 

XX. 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 


Chalons 

272 

Avignon . ... 

275 

Breakfast 

. 273 

Marseilles .... 

275 

River Saone 

273 

Mr. Hodge .... 

276 

The Rhone . 

. 273 

Chapel of Our Lady . 

278 

Lyons 

273 

The Ercolano 

279 

Silk Manufactory . 

. 274 

White Friars 

280 

Waldenses 

274 

The Mediterranean 

280 



XXI. 



GENOA. 


Fete Day .... 

282 

City of Palaces . 

284 

Churches of Genoa . 

283 

Christopher Columbus . 

. 284 

Bones of John the Baptist 

283 

Amusements 

284 

The Sacra Catino 

283 

Clara Novello 

. 284 

Unhallowed Inscription. 

283 

Two Nights 

286 


XXII. 



LEGHORN —PISA —CIVITA VECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 


Dreadfully unfair Night 

287 

The Campo Santo 

289 

Six Horses . 

. 287 

Recommendation . 

. 290 

Leghorn 

287 

Galley Slaves . 

291 

John Smith . 

. 287 

Civita Vecchia 

. 291 

Pisa .... 

288 

Fleas without Sheets . 

292 

Grand Illumination 

. 288 

An Oration . 

. 292 

San Ranieri 

288 

Arrived at Naples 

293 

The Cathedral 

. 288 

Vesuvius 

. 293 

The Baptistery . 

289 

Naples 

294 

Leaning Tower . . . 289 

XXIII. 

RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


Valet de Place . 

296 

Grotto of Posilippo . 

297 

Lazzaroni 

. 296 

A Hermit 

. 297 


3 B* 


18 CONTENTS. 


Convicts . 

• • 

297 

Elysian Fields 

301 

Puteoli . 

• • 

298 

River Styx 

301 

Bridge of Caligula 

• 

• 

298 

Nero’s Prisons 

301 

Lake Avemus 

• « 

298 

Temple of Justice 

302 

Temple of Apollo 

• • 

298 

Temple of Neptune 

302 

Sibyl’s Cave . 

• • 

298 

Lake Agnano 

303 

Human Horses . 

« • 

299 

Cavern of Charon 

303 

Baths of Nero 

• • 

300 

Ammonia Grotto . « 

304 

Temples of Diana, 

Mercury, 


Sulphur Baths 

304 

and Venus 

• 

• 

300 

Characteristic Exhibition . 

304 

Julian Port 

• • 

300 

The Carlines 

305 


XXIV. 

THE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 


Sabbath in Naples 

306 

Church of the Black Prince . 

309 

Church of the Jesuits . 

. 306 

The Cathedral . 

310 

Santa Chiara 

307 

St. January’s Chapel 

310 

Santa Severn 

. 308 

A Bottle of Blood 

311 

Dead Christ 

308 

A Miracle .... 

311 

Statute of Vice 

. 308 

The high Altar . 

311 

Virtue 

309 

Tricks and Artifices 

312 



XXV. 


CATACOMBS. 

-CEMETERY —TOMB OF VIRGIL 


Christian Retreats. 

. 313 

The Vaults 

316 

Hired Mourners. 

313 

Garden Lots . 

. 317 

Frescoes 

. 314 

The Monks 

317 

Extent of the Catacombs 

314 

Virgil’s Tomb 

. 317 

The new Cemetery 

. 315 

Life in Naples . 

318 

Its fine Location 

The Chapels . 

315 

316 

Painting and Poverty 

. 319 


XXVI. 

HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 

• 

Mournful Associations 

• 

CO 

o 

Destruction 

321 

Pompeii from Naples . 

. 320 

The terrible Scene 

. 322 

Earthquake 

321 

Pliny’s Letters . 

323 

Restoration 

. 321 

Herculaneum discovered 

. 330 



CONTENTS. 


19 

Papyrus Rolls . 

331 

Downward Course of Things 

338 

The Excavations . 

. 331 

Public Offices . 

• 

338 

Theater .... 

331 

Temple of Isis 

• • 

338 

Burial of Pompeii . 

. 332 

The Priests 

• 

339 

Streets of Pompeii 

332 

Theater 

• • 

340 

The House . 

. 333 

Pantheon . 

• 

340 

House of Diomede 

333 

Forum . 

• • 

340 

His Family . 

. 334 

Senate House . 

• 

340 

Men in the Stocks 

335 

Temple of Justice 

• • 

340 

House of Sallust . 

. 335 

The Amphitheater 

• 

340 

House of Pansa 

336 

A Gladiator . 

• • 

340 

House of the Tragic Poet 

. 336 

Articles of Household 

Furni- 


House of the Fountains 

336 

ture . 

• • 

342 

Barber’s Shop 

. 337 

Museum at Naples 

• 

342 

The Apothecary’s Shop 

.337 

A Notable Day 

• * 

343 



XXVII. 



VESUVIUS THE 

DESTROYER. 


Hight of Vesuvius 

344 

The Cone .... 

346 

Eruptions 

. 344 

The Crater .... 

347 

Torre del Greco 

344 

Appearance of Vesuvius 

347 

A Visit to Vesuvius 

. 344 

Our Breakfast 

348 

Balloon 

344 

Sad Event 

349 

The gentle Horse . 

. 345 

Description of an Eruption . 

349 

Fields of Lava . 

345 

The Tropia 

351 

Hermitage 

. 345 

The Descent 

351 

Observatory 

345 

Nature and God 

352 

Lachryma Christi . 

. 346 

. 




XXVIII. 


THE 

ROME OF 

THE CA2SARS. 


The Eternal City 

353 

Byron’s Description 

. 358 

Pons ASlius . 

. 354 

Circus Maximus 

359 

St. Angelo 

354 

Circus of Maxentius 

. 359 

The Seven Hills . 

. 354 

Temple of Romulus . 

359 

Roman Forum . 

354 

Palace of the Caesars . 

. 360 

Via Sacra 

. 355 

Golden House of Nero 

360 

The Corso 

355 

Island of Pandaleria 

. 361 

The Coliseum 

. 355 

Grotto of Egeria 

361 

Ignatius of Antioch . 

356 

Temple of Bacchus 

. 362 



20 CONTENTS. 


Ship of the Tiber 

362 

Mamertine Prisons 

. 365 

Arch of Drusus 

362 

Catacombs of Rome . 

366 

Arch of Constantine . 

362 

Tarpeian Rock 

. 367 

Arch of Septimius Severus . 

363 

Tomb of the Scipios . 

368 

Arch of Titus . 

363 

Tomb of Caius Cestius . 

. 368 

Baths of Caracalla 

363 

Tomb of Augustus . 

369 

Baths of Diocletian . 

364 

Tomb of Bib ulus . 

. 369 

The Pantheon 

364 

The Columbarium 

369 

Tomb of Raphael 

365 





XXIX. 



ANTIQUITIES —RELICS. 


Scala Santa . 

. 370 

Pictures painted by Luke . 

372 

Luther 

371 

Cradle in which the Savior was 


The Indentation . 

. 371 

rocked .... 

372 

Table on which was 

eaten the 

Italian Credulity . 

373 

Last Supper 

. 372 

The Knell of Rome . 

374 



XXX. 


TIIE ROME OF 

TIIE POPES. 


Extent of the City 

375 

Laocoon .... 

388 

Roman Citizenship 

375 

Apollo Belvedere . 

388 

St. Peter’s .... 

376 

Sleeping Cleopatra 

388 

The Relics .... 

378 

Belvedere Antonius 

388 

Head of St. Andrew . 

379 

Torso Belvedere 

388 

Bronze Statue of Jupiter 

379 

The Library .... 

388 

Anniversary of the Pope’s Cor¬ 


The Sistine Chapel . 

388 

onation .... 

380 

Last Judgment by Michael An¬ 


Silver Illumination 

381 

gelo .... 

389 

Golden Illumination 

381 

The Capitol .... 

389 

St. John Lateran 

382 

The Bronze Wolf 

389 

Five General Councils . 

382 

The Dying Gladiator 

390 

Baptistery 

383 

Inquisition Palace 

390 

Church of the Capuchins 

384 

Cloister of Tasso . 

390 

Cloisters of the Friars 

384 

Venus of the Capitol 

390 

San Paolo .... 

385 

English Burying Ground 

391 

Church of St. Sebastian . 

386 

The Carnival 

393 

The Vatican .... 

387 




CONTENTS. 


21 


XXXI. 


PIUS IX. AND 

THE 

CATHOLIC CHURCH. 


Death of Gregory XVI. 


399 

History of this Relic . 

412 

Camerlinque . 

• 

399 

Miracles performed by this 


Cajetanina 


399 

Coat .... 

413 

Pasquinades . 


400 

John Ronge .... 

414 

Mastai Feretti . 


401 

Interest taken in this Impo¬ 


The Coronation 

• 

401 

sition .... 

415 

Lambruschini 


402 

Wretched Intolerance of Ro¬ 


Mettemich . 

• 

402 

manism 

417 

Reform Measures 


402 

In England 

417 

Opposition to Reform . 

• 

402 

In France .... 

417 

Pius flies .... 


403 

In Rome .... 

417 

The Attack of the French 

• 

403 

The Press .... 

418 

Corpus Domini . 


403 

The Bible a proscribed Book 

418 

The Nun 

• 

403 

The Rights of Conscience . 

418 

The sceptical Priest . 


404 

Faith with Heretics . 

418 

The Gathering 

• 

404 

Exiles. 

418 

Monkish Procession . 


405 

A Kempis .... 

419 

The Hats 

• 

406 

Fenelon .... 

419 

The Pope .... 


406 

Cardinal Wiseman 

420 

His Body Guard . 

• 

406 

The apostate Newman . 

420 

His Bearers 


406 

Bishop Hughes . 

420 

Personal Appearance 

• 

407 

Orestes A. Brownson . 

420 

The Benediction 


408 

Mazzini .... 

420 

Rev. Mr. Barry 

• 

408 

The Penitent 

421 

Romanism 


409 

A Case of Popish Jug¬ 


Its unblushing Absurdities 

• 

409 

gling . 

423 

The Holy Week 


409 

Rome has not changed 

424 

Feet Washing 

• 

409 

Strages Huguenotorum . 

425 

The Agnus Dei 


410 

The Slaughter of the Hugue¬ 


Christi Missa 

• 

410 

nots ..... 

425 

Miserere .... 


410 

Taxa Camarse Apostolic® . 

420 

Outline of the Foot of the 


The Fall of Rome 

427 

Virgin .... 


411 

Baptist W. Noel 

427 

Coat of Jesus 

• 

411 





22 


CONTENTS. 



XXXII. 



FLORENCE. 


Leaving mighty Rome 

428 

Hiram Powers . 

432 

Book of Mormon . 

. 429 

Genius of America 

432 

Rome to Civita Vecchia 

429 

Liberty treading on Tyranny 

433 

Florence by Railway 

. 429 

Greenough .... 

433 

San Victoria’s Day . 

429 

A great Work . 

433 

A Horse Race 

. 429 

Churches of Florence . 

434 

The Florentine Dives 

430 

Santa Croce 

434 

The Flower Girls . 

. 430 

Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel 

434 

The Cathedral . 

431 

Santissima Annunziato 

439 

The Baptistery 

. 431 

Santo Spirito 

439 

The Bell Tower 

431 

Santa Maria Novella . 

439 

Pitti Palace . 

. 431 

The Grand Duke . 

440 

Boboli Gardens . 

431 

Rome to America 

441 

Convents and Churches 

. 431 

Austrian Soldiers . 

441 

Studios 

432 

Military Funeral 

442 

Pampaloni 

. 432 

Relics and Rites . 

443 


XXXIII. 


BOLOGNA AND FERRARA. 


The Diligence . 

444 

Affecting Verse 

. 446 

St. Peter’s Day 

. 445 

Lines to Scipio Gonzaga 

447 

Bologna 

445 

The Plouse of Ariosto . 

. 448 

Academy of Fine Arts . 

. 445 

River Po . 

448 

Tomb of St. Dominic 

445 

The Sermon . 

. 448 

Two Leaning Towers . 

. 446 

An Ecclesiastic 

449 

The Cemetery . 

446 

Padua .... 

. 449 

Hights of St. Michael . 

. 446 

St. Antony’s 

450 

Ferrara 

446 

St. Justina’s . 

. 450 

Prison of Tasso 

. 446 

The Comaro 

450 

The beautiful Eleanora. 

446 

The Pisani . 

. 450 


XXXIY. 

VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 

452 Shell Fish. . . . 453 

. 452 Islands. 453 


Ride into Venice 
Gondolas 




CONTENTS. 

23 

Bridges 

453 

Nicolo Erizzo . ; 

455 

Tomb of Titian 

. 453 

Verona ..... 

457 

Monument of Canova 

. 453 

The Amphitheater 

457 

San Marco . 

. 453 

The Tomb of Juliet 

457 

St Mark’s Square 

453 

Milan .... 

458 

Doge’s Palace 

. 454 

Milan Cathedral . 

459 

Giant’s Stairs 

454 

A Funeral Service 

459 

Bridge of Sighs 

. 454 

Specimen of Italian Christians 

459 

Government of Venice 

454 

Original Painting of the Last 


Arch of the Rialto 

. 454 

Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci 

459 

Murder of Donato 

455 

An Italian Patriot 

400 

Giacomo Foscari . 

. 455 





XXXV. 


THE 

ALPS —PASS 

OF THE SIMPLON. 


The Ascent 

402 

The Cross . 

. 405 

Change of Climate 

. 402 

Words of Bowring 

. 405 

Houses of Refuge 

403 

Brieg 

400 

Hospice 

. 403 

A Procession 

. 400 

Gorge of Gondo 

404 

Swiss Hat . 

407 

Sabbath on the Alps 

. 404 

Catholic Rites 

. 407 



X XXVI . 


SWITZERLAND 

— LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 


Lausanne .... 

408 

The Prizes . 

. 470 

The Cathedral 

408 

The Difference . 

470 

House of Gibbon 

408 

House of Calvin . 

. 470 

Geneva. 

00 

Kindred Spirits . 

471 

Lake Leman 

408 

Church of St. Peter 

. 471 

Castle of Chillon . 

409 

Calvin’s Grave . 

472 

Bonnivard .... 

409 

Sir Humphry Davy 

. 472 

Mont Blanc .... 

469 

The Library of Geneva 

472 

Great Fete 

409 







XXXVII. 



FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 


French Custom-house 

. 470 An Adventure 

. 470 

Wet Clothes 

. 470 Dijon 

. . 477 


24 

CONTENTS. 


An Englishman in a Dilemma 

478 

Storm on the Channel . 

481 

Spoorweg .... 

479 

The ludicrous Scene . * 

481 

The Frenchman’s Chest 

479 

Arrival at Dover . 

482 

Barren Heads . 

479 

Burley Custom-house Officer 

482 

A Mistake .... 

480 

Victoria .... 

482 

The French Colporter 

480 

The Poet Laureate 

489 

Opinion of Louis Napoleon . 

480 

Ilis Tribute .... 

483 

Arrival at Calais 

481 





XXXVIII. 


THE VOYAGE- 

-HOME AGAIN. 


Liverpool . 

485 

Napoleon’s Prediction . 

491 

The Europa 

485 

Health to America . 

491 

The North Channel 

485 

Romish Church 

492 

Rev. A. J. Sessions’s Sermon 

485 

The Bible at Nice 

492 

Iceberg . . . . 

486 

Religion in Hungary 

493 

Collision with the Florence 

486 

Bigotry of Sweden . 

494 

Man lost . 

487 

Affairs in Germany 

495 

Halifax .... 

487 

Affairs in Austria 

495 

Highland Soldiers . 

488 

Persecution of Dr. King 

496 

Arrival at Boston 

488 

Communication of Dr. Devan 

497 

Home. 

488 

Dependence on the Bible 

498 

Present Condition of Europe 

488 

American Jesuits 

499 

Statement of Mr. Roussel 

489 

Alarming Sentiments 

499 

Social Condition of France 

490 

Farewell to the Reader 

504 


EUROPA 


i. 


• THE VOYAGE. 

“Visit Naples, and then die,” is a saying of which 
every traveler is reminded, as he pursues his way down 
through sunny France, and along the shores of the deep 
blue Mediterranean, to that city of wonders, and to that 
region of buried wealth, fashion, and beauty, where 
God has chosen to exhibit himself in awful forms of 
grandeur and power, and where he speaks to man in 
the thunder of volcanoes, and in the eloquent silence 
of deserted cities. I well remember, when a child, to 
have found an old, musty book, containing a traveler’s 
account of his pleasures and perils in the south of Eu¬ 
rope. His description of old, hoary Vesuvius, which 
had smoked and blazed, bellowed and thundered, there 
for ages; of Rome, the city of seven hills; of massive 
piles, and grand old ruins, — stirred up smouldering 
fires, and awakened an intense desire to see what had 
been so graphically portrayed. 

The studies of later years have increased the desire. 
I have scarcely been content with reading of battle fields, 
monumental piles, old ruined towers and cities, palaces 
of dead and living kings, crowned monarchs, and a 

4 c 



26 


EUROPA. 


presumptuous pope. Mine eyes have desired to witness 
scenes so long familiar to imagination, and become ac¬ 
quainted with men whose works I have read, and whose 
names I have loved to honor. All through youth, fancy 
drew vivid sketches of the vine-clad hills over which 
Italia’s children gaze ; of Rome, that city where proud 
Caesar dwelt in his now ruined palace, and where the 
broken fragments of temple, forum, circus, and sepul¬ 
chre are piled together in confusion; of Florence, that 
sparkling gem of the south, with its galleries of paint¬ 
ing and sculpture, and the studios of its artists in 
every street; of Venice, with its wave-washed piles, its 
“ bridge of sighs,” its light, fantastic gondolas, propelled 
over sparkling waters, ’neath golden skies, to the sim¬ 
ple melody of the boatman’s song. The time when the 
reality should be substituted for the ideal, and I should 
cross the Tiber, by old, frowning St. Angelo, and pursue 
my way along the Via Appia, amid the crumbling mon¬ 
uments of the past, has been ardently desired. 

A few months ago, the way was opened by which 
these desires could be gratified; and, with the three¬ 
fold purpose of securing health, recreation, and knowl¬ 
edge, I left the familiar scenes of home, and set sail for 
the land of poetry and song. The sad parting, the 
tender farewell, the good-by song, and the last cordial 
grasp of the hand you remember, while the hearty wel¬ 
come given to the wanderer, on his return, has not yet 
died out. 

I took passage, as you know, from Boston, in the 
“ Daniel Webster,” the ominous name of one of the 
finest packet ships that ever sailed from port. The 
horror of the sea, which I had always felt, disappeared 
as I stood upon her deck, and contrasted her fine form 
and majestic proportions with the miserable craft which 


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THE VOYAGE. 


27 


sometimes find their way across the deep. To tread 
there seemed more like walking on the solid land than 
on the quivering deck of a vessel, that might he stranded 
on the first shore, or foundered in the first gale. 

On one Saturday morning in April, we embarked. 
Over the side of the vessel kindly salutations were ex¬ 
changed with friends, and the good ship swung off. 
As she passed out of the harbor, a magnificent view of 
the city was afforded. The tall spires, the smoking 
chimneys, and the towering monument on Bunker Hill, 
tokens and pledges of national piety, industry, and pa¬ 
triotism, were the last objects that faded from our view. 
Passing, in rapid succession, the old fort, which grinned 
ghastly, as if she wished to pour her iron hail down 
upon us; the splendid hospital on Deer Island, smiling 
as if in recognition of our bloodless mission; the old 
light-house, which has long stood to guide the weary 
mariner to a safe anchorage, — we were soon out on the 
open ocean. One can hardly tell the feeling of loneli¬ 
ness and desolation which comes over the voyager, as, 
for the first time, he loses sight of land. He is cut off 
from the great world. Above him is the broad expanse 
of sky; beneath him, a wide waste of waters ; around 
him, the whistling wind makes melancholy music. The 
vessel, which, while lying at anchor, seemed to him a 
floating palace, now dwindles to a speck, and himself 
sinks down into insignificance, in the presence of the 
awful grandeur of the deep. Soon, however, this loneli¬ 
ness and the sense of the sublime are swallowed up in the 
irritating, exhausting sickness which usually attends the 
first voyage. I will not show my folly by any attempt to 
describe sea-sickness, or bewail what I suffered in cross¬ 
ing the ocean. No one thus afflicted, on land or ocean, 
secures sympathy. The poor landsman, however sick 


28 


EUEOPA. 


he may be, is the object of ridicule, the butt of wit, and 
the sport of all. While he wishes to be cast into the 
deep, or disposed of in the shortest way, the more for- 
tunate render themselves merry with his sorrows. My 
share of sea-sickness “ belonged to me and somebody 
else,” as a good-natured Irishman on board told me, as 
one day he saw me leaning over the side of the ship, 
wishing I were a fish, or a bird, or something else as 
insensible to the evils under which at that moment 
I was groaning. It was, however, some consolation to 
know I was not the worst on board, but in my turn 
could sport with those who were in deeper affliction. 

When sea-sickness somewhat abated, and I could 
climb from my state-room to the deck, I began to study 
my fellow-passengers. The captain of the ship was a 
good-natured, frolic-loving man, who devoted himself 
to his passengers, of whom there were about fifty in 
the cabin, and a large number in the steerage. His 
experience and skill in the management of his vessel 
gave us a consciousness of safety, and his urbanity and 
kindness made the long voyage pass pleasantly away. 
On our arrival at Liverpool, complimentary resolutions 
were passed, to which we all gave our assent with 
hearty good wilL 

The oldest man on board was Mr. A., a native of 
Scotland — a very fat man, who had a very lean wife. 
They were returning from the land of their adoption, 
to the land of their nativity, to attend the old kirk, 
and meet once more around the old hearth-stone. He 
was a fine specimen of an old-fashioned Calvinist, to 
whose ears there was nothing sweet in the tones of 
the church organ, nothing true in a written sermon, 
and whose eyes could see nothing but a retrograde in 
the movements of our times. Cromwell would have 


THE VOYAGE. 


29 


delighted in such a man for a supporter, as he swept over 
fields of battle, singing the psalms of David. And yet, 
wedded to the past, and to the old Scotch Presbyterian 
past, he was a man of sincere and unaffected goodness, 
whose life, doubtless, is more correct than many who 
boast a more liberal faith. 

The next oldest man on board was Mr. B., a jovial, 
hale old gentleman, who would tell, for hours at a time, 
the most improbable stories with as much gravity as if he 
believed them himself. He was, during the whole voy¬ 
age, our mirth-maker general, rattling away at the most 
unreasonable rate, alike upon politics, religion, morals, 
and philosophy. If a joke was to be perpetrated, a 
freak of folly carried out, B. was ready. That he did 
not “ sow all his wild oats ” in youth, was very evident. 

Next came Mr. C., a venerable man, upwards of 
sixty years, who was the first to retire to his berth at 
night, and the first to leave it in the morning; the first 
to come to the table, and the last to leave it; — a strik¬ 
ing instance of the value of good habits, and an illus¬ 
tration of the influence of a cheerful disposition to 
enable one to “ hold his own,” in vigor of body and 
sprightliness of mind. He had sent over to the 
“World’s Fair” a lock, which, in his estimation, all 
creation could not pick, and a safe which all creation 
could not burn. 

Next was Mr. D., a tall man in gray — gray hair, 
gray eyebrows, (gray whiskers, if he had any,) gray 
coat, gray pants, gray vest, and, for aught I know, gray 
boots. He mingled little with us, but moved about 
with a yellow-covered document protruding from the 
pocket of his great gray coat. He was an amiable 
man, and was crossing the ocean with his wife, to see 
the land and the graves of his fathers. 

c * 


30 


EUUOPA. 


Next was Mr. E., a Hungarian, who boasted of his 
connection with the distinguished refugees. He told 
us of the shrewd way in which he managed to butcher 
his foes, and seemed to think cold-blooded murder a 
very harmless amusement. According to his own state¬ 
ment, he was a truer patriot than Ivossufh, and a braver 
man than Ujliazy. He evidently was a fool, or thought 
we were fools. I set him down as a traveling pedler. 

Besides these, we had men of all professions and 
employments — three clergymen, each of whom believed 
himself right and the others wrong; a physician, whom 
I should not be afraid to trust, provided I had no 
other disease than sea-sickness; a tallow chandler, who, 
having all his life made candles to light the way of 
others, was now going abroad to light his own candle; 
two young graduates of old Harvard, who, having fin¬ 
ished their education, were going abroad in search of 
genius; a fine couple of English people, who were on 
their way to the scenes of their youth; a butcher and 
a baker; a watchmaker and a shoemaker; a dry goods 
dealer and a liquor seller; a file-cutter and a brick¬ 
layer ; an old man nearly seventy years, and a child of 
three weeks; one fat as an alderman, and one dying in 
consumption; card players and Bible readers, — in fact, 
all sorts, white spirits and gray, forming one of the 
most agreeable and cosy companies that ever sailed 
from Boston. 

We endeavored to amuse ourselves as best we could 
during the twenty-eight days we were on the deep; 
sometimes holding mock courts, and trying some of our 
fellow-passengers on fictitious charges; discussing grave 
matters of law, life, and logic; singing songs and psalm 
tunes; and, for the want of work, turned boys again, 
and went to play. 


THE VOYAGE. 


31 


Our Sabbaths were spent according to our various 
ideas of propriety. The first holy day we were on the 
water was dismal in the extreme. But few of us were 
able to leave our beds, while from the poor, sea-sick 
objects of commiseration came many a doleful sound, 
and many a significant exclamation. The second Sab¬ 
bath, too, passed very much in the same way. Storms 
swept over the deep, the billows ran high, and we were 
tumbled about in the most amusing manner. The most 
incorrigible were obliged to leave the cabin and seek 
their berths, and over all seemed to hang a deep, impen¬ 
etrable gloom. 

The third Sabbath there was an improvement. Early 
in the morning, we were aroused by the cry, “ A ship! 
a ship! ” and a few minutes afterwards a Bremen vessel, 
her deck covered with human beings, her flags flying 
proudly, her sails all set, came sweeping by, to land 
her living cargo on American shores. At eleven, my 
traveling companion, Dr. M., preached a sermon to the 
few who were able to crawl in to hear him. He used 
for his text that declaration of Jonah, “ It is better for 
me to die than to live.” Most who heard it were very 
much of Jonah’s opinion, and perhaps no more appro¬ 
priate theme could have been selected. The preacher 
flatly contradicted Jonah, declared that he knew noth¬ 
ing about the matter, and proved most conclusively 
that the poor sea-sick creatures on board, who almost 
desired to be cast out into Jonah’s uncomfortable sep- 
ulchre, had better be quiet and contented where they 
were. 

The fourth Sabbath was a most lovely day. The sun 
arose in the morning in all his beauty, and poured a 
flood of splendor over the waters. Two religious ser¬ 
vices were that day held on board, in which orthodox 


32 


EUROPA. 


and heterodox, Arminian and Calvinist, Protestant and 
Catholic, Jew and Gentile, bond and free, united. 

You would have been amused at the spectacle we 
presented, as, pale and cadaverous after our long sea¬ 
sickness, we two, friend M. and myself, stood up against 
the boat which was on deck, and, with our sermons in 
our hands, preached to the congregation which came 
from cabin, forecastle, and steerage. There was to me 
something sublime in the song which swept over the 
waters, and the prayer which went up from our float¬ 
ing- Bethel to the God of ocean and storm. I never 
preached in such a chapel before, with the heavens for 
a bending arch, and the deep ocean for a carpet. But 
God preaches louder than man on the ocean. His 
voice is heard in the wild roar of the sea, and in the 
moaning wind, and the wide, wide expanse spread out 
north, south, east, and west. 

Though we had a long and severe passage, we had 
hut few dangerous storms; and those few were not con¬ 
sidered by the sailors as at all uncomfortable. On the 
Saturday evening of that week when the severe and 
terrible storm swept along your coast, destroying prop¬ 
erty, demolishing light-houses, and sacrificing life, we 
experienced a gale, which, to those who had never seen 
the ocean in its fury, was truly appalling. Just at 
nightfall, a mast, to which was attached a tattered sail 
and the oil jacket of a sailor, drifted by. As it mount¬ 
ed on the waves, it seemed to nod mournfully, as if 
inculcating lessons of prudence. It appeared to fore¬ 
tell the storm, which soon was careering over the wide, 
watery waste. I had never before seen the ocean 
lashed into rage, and the impression made on my mind 
will never be erased. The night was dark; not a star 
sent down its twinkling rays; the rain fell in torrents; 


THE VOYAGE. 33 

/* 

the ropes rattled against each other; the hoarse cry of 
the officer on deck, and the almost chilling reply of 
the sailor, — “ Ay, ay, sir,” — mingled with the blast; 
deep thunders rolled, and vivid lightnings gleamed; 
phosphoric light seemed to crown every wave with fire, 
and our ship plunged about, as if mad with the storm 
which was crossing her track. To one who loves the 
grand and the sublime, I know of nothing finer than a 
storm at sea. All sickness, fear, and anxiety depart; 
every other feeling is swallowed up in the one awful 
idea; and the beholder almost wishes to be wrecked, 
stranded, or foundered, — any thing, that he may see 
the whole of such a grand catastrophe. 

These storms give rise, sometimes, to most amusing 
incidents. One morning, while the company were at 
breakfast, the ship was thrown upon a wave which 
caused her to plunge and reel to such an extent, that 
those who sat upon one side of the table canted over 
upon their backs upon the floor, in the twinkling of an 
eye, while over them flowed streams of milk and honey, 
and upon them were piled meat and bread, table dishes 
and their contents. The ship’s surgeon one day was 
administering a bowl of gruel to a patient, when, by a 
roll of the vessel, the contents of his bowl were dis- 
charged into his own bosom, and the doctor was forced 
unwillingly to take his own medicine. 

Our passage was so long, that all measures were re¬ 
sorted to for amusement. One fine morning, while the 
ship lay becalmed in mid ocean, the intelligence was 
communicated to us that a bottle, containing some doc¬ 
ument, was floating near us. It was at once conjec¬ 
tured to contain an account of some shipwreck. Our 
interest was increased by the apparent zeal of the offi¬ 
cers, who lowered the boat, and brought on board the 

5 


34 


EUROPA. 


bottle. All gathered around to see it broken, and 
when the paper within was read, it was found to be 
a harmless joke, which had been perpetrated upon us 
for the purpose of keeping up our spirits another day. 
Out of it grew a mock trial, in which all the parts 
were well sustained day after day, even to the use of 
handcuffs and fetters. 

On the 1st day of May, we saw land, for the first 
time, in the dim and misty distance. A long, nar¬ 
row stripe, like a bank of mist, was pointed out as 
“ Crow’s Head.” It was a joyful sight, and shout after 
shout burst from rejoicing lips. On the evening of 
next day, Cape Clear light was recognized, and, soon 
after, full in view was the coast of Ireland, with old, 
ruined castles on its frowning hills. "We entered the 
Mersey on Sabbath morning, and soon, passing by the 
town of Birkenhead, the great commercial city of Liv¬ 
erpool was before us. Before leaving the vessel, we 
met in the cabin, and sung a song which had been pre¬ 
pared to the tune of “ Poor old Ned,” an air which 
had often been employed during our passage. 

There is a good ship, the Daniel Webster is its name, 

And it sailed long ago — long ago ; 

In spite of head winds, it has crossed the stormy main, 

In the tracks where the good ships go. 

Now, if we must part, be it so; 

But we’ll say farewell ere we go ; 

For we’ve no more a home on the ocean foam, 

Since away we must go — we must go. 

Adieu to the ship, and the captain true, 

Who has kept us safe by his skill ; 

While each of his mates, and his jolly, jolly crew, 

Has toiled with a right good will. 

Now, if we must part, be it so; 

But we’ll say farewell ere we go; 


THE VOYAGE. 


35 


For we’ve no more a home on the ocean foam, 

Since away we must go — we must go. 

As strangers we met, but with sympathetic hearts, 

Ere we sailed, long ago — long ago ; 

Now, tears fill our eyes, as each one departs, 

Ne’er to meet, perchance, here below. 

Now, if we must part, be it so ; 

But we’ll say farewell ere we go ; 

For we’ve no more a home on the ocean foam, 

Since away we must go — we must go. 

* 

The echo died away, and another song — sweeter, 
purer, and more befitting the sacred day — went up to 
God from that company, about to be separated, never 
to meet again on earth. 

Be thou, O God, exalted high; 

And as thy glory fills the sky, 

So let it be on earth displayed, 

Till thou art here as there obeyed. 

Here our voyage was finished, and, with bandbox 
and bundle, we prepared to go ashore, very willing to 
exchange “ life on the ocean wave ” for life on the solid 
land, where knives and forks would not dance together 
on the table, and where our bed at night would not 
now and then take a notion to stand on the head-board 
or foot-board, thus reversing the position of the sleeper 
to a most uncomfortable degree, — but where his head 
and feet would always be in their proper places, no 
longer at the mercy of the storm, the winds, and the 
waves. 


EUROPA. 



II. 

* * 

LIVERPOOL. 

We soon passed the custom-house, had our baggage 
examined, and were on our way to a hotel. Every 
thing was new and strange. I expected to have seen 
a crowd of jostling hackmen, a multitude of beggars, 
and a swarm of pickpockets, but was agreeably disap¬ 
pointed in finding the streets as quiet as our own, the 
police officers, with a neat distinguishing livery, ready 
to bestow any attention, and the people free from that 
idle gaze with which a person is received in an Ameri¬ 
can city, if he chances to arrive at an unusual hour, or 
in an uncomely plight. As we moved on, the corners 
of the streets were seen covered with notices of reli¬ 
gious meetings. This objectionable practice prevails all 
over England, and clergymen, on Saturday, have large 
placards pasted on the corners of the streets, and on 
public buildings, informing the people of the hour and 
the subject on which they will discourse. Some of these 
notices are several feet in length, and are worded so as 
to draw attention. One was headed, 44 Popery misrep¬ 
resented and represented; or, Which is which ;” and 
below followed a notice that Kev. Mr. Somebody would 
preach on Popery at a given hour. 

After dinner, I went out to find a religious service. 
I went to several chapels of our own denomination, but 
found them closed, the prevailing custom being to hold 
<»service in the morning and evening. St. David’s Church 


THE THAME 










































































































































LIVERPOOL. 


37 


I found open. It would seat more than a thousand 
persons, and but twenty-four adults and thirty-one chil¬ 
dren were present. An elderly man was preaching 
from the words, “ Wherefore gird up the loins of your 
mind,” &c. The discourse was sound in doctrine, ably 
written, but drawled and jerked out in the most unpar¬ 
donable manner. The children were at play, and the 
adults were asleep. On the evening of the* same day, 
I wandered out to the church of the famous Hugh 
M'Neile, one of the best pulpit orators I heard in Eng¬ 
land. His church is far away from the noise and con¬ 
fusion of the city, in a beautiful park, and is a costly 
and elegant Gothic structure. Though so far removed 
from the mass of habitations and the crowded streets, 
it is always well tilled with an aristocratic audience. 
On the evening in question, it was crowded. We en¬ 
tered after the service had commenced; a song of praise 
was sweetly sounding through the aisles, and echoing 
amid the arches overhead. As we passed up the aisle, 
we were at once recognized as strangers, and several pew 
doors were immediately thrown open to us — an in¬ 
stance of genuine politeness seldom shown so promptly, 
and with such apparent cheerfulness, in England or 
America. Hr. M’Neile is apparently about sixty years 
of age, tall and dignified in his demeanor, erect and 
manly in his bearing, having a countenance full of life, 
and an eye flashing with the fires of genius and intel¬ 
lect. His tone is earnest, and his enunciation clear and 
distinct. His hair is gray, bordering on snowy white¬ 
ness, and is carefully arranged. His countenance is 
one of the most expressive I have ever seen, and marks 
him as a man of vigorous thought and energy. He 
has recently entered into the arena of theological dis¬ 
cussion, as an opponent of the church of Rome; and 

D 


38 


EUROPA. 


few men in England are feared more by the pope and 
his cardinals than Hugh M’Neile. 

And yet, with all his abilities, he has committed fol¬ 
lies which ordinary men could not survive. I was told 
by a member of his church, that, on one occasion, when 
Prince Albert was on a visit to Liverpool, he attended 
the service performed by this distinguished man. The 
preacher, carried away by his enthusiastic love of 
royalty, preached a discourse from that awful passage 
in the Book of Revelation, “ Behold, he cometh with 
clouds, and every eye shall see him,” and an applica¬ 
tion of this language was made to the distinguished 
visitor. The sermon which I was fortunate enough to 
hear was from the words of Paul — “ That thou mayest 
know how to behave thyself in the house of God, w T hich 
is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground 
of the truth.” The introduction was very simple, and 
was devoted to an explanation of the word “ church,” 
and the different ways in which it is applied in the 
New Testament. The “ names given to the church ” 
formed his subject. 1. The house of God. The earthly 
temple, with its smoking incense, its swelling anthems, 
its robed priests, its flaming altars, its shekinah, and 
all its glory, is God’s emblem of his church. As a 
house is builded, so the church is built. As the rough 
stones are taken from the quarry, smoothed and pol¬ 
ished, so the sinner is taken from the depths of sin, 
changed, purified, and put as a lively stone into God’s 
house. Every disciple has some place there — the 
place of a nail, or a brick, or a stone. 2. The church 
of the living God. Paganism is a dead religion; its 
forms, services, and ceremonies are dead. Papists wor¬ 
ship a dead virgin, dead saints, dead relics — all are 
dead. Christianity lives; is full of activity; God has 


LIVERPOOL. 


39 


breathed into it his own living spirit. 3. The pillar 
and ground of truth. The proclamations of the an¬ 
cient kings were written out, and hung upon pillars, 
that the people might read. The church, the minister, 
the Christian, are to be God’s pillars, to hold up his 
truth, that dying men may read it. 

During the delivery of this discourse, the preacher 
stood with a small Bible in his hand, and was unem¬ 
barrassed with notes. The sermon was ingenious rather 
than profound, impressive rather than eloquent. It 
was followed by an extemporaneous prayer, offered in a 
subdued and melting tone, and seemed full of the true 
and unmistakable spirit of devotion. 

On the following morning, I went out to see the city. 
Liverpool, you know, is the greatest commercial city in 
the world. The docks, its principal attraction, are of 
peculiar construction, and admirably adapted to their 
purpose. They are built between the river and the 
town, guarded from storms, and filled at high tide from 
the river. Many of them can be entirely drained at 
low tide, or kept full, as circumstances may require. 
These docks, built at an immense expense, are capable 
of protecting a vast number of vessels, and distin¬ 
guish Liverpool from all other cities. 

One would hardly select Liverpool as a place of resi¬ 
dence, independent of business considerations. The 
streets are irregular, and filled with seamen and dock 
laborers of the lowest class; houses, stores, and work¬ 
shops are strangely mixed together; and ignorance and 
poverty are more distinctly seen than in London. 
There are some fine public buildings, among which the 
stranger admires the Exchange, the new Sailors’ Home, 
St. George’s Hall, and several others. There are parks 
and cemeteries of great beauty. I wandered into St. 


40 


EUROPA. 


James’s Cemetery, situated in a deep dell, surrounded 
by high hills, in which excavations are made for tombs. 
Almost the first object which meets the eye, on enter¬ 
ing, is a Grecian oratory, in which are several monu¬ 
ments to the crumbling memory of the dead. On 
every side are statues and efiigies, the poor memorials 
of once living, moving men. This burial-place is one 
of much rural beauty, and, from its picturesque situation 
in what was once a stone quarry, in the sides of which 
are several sculptured galleries of catacombs, draws the 
attention, and claims a visit from every stranger. The 
great object of interest, however, is the marble statue of 
the lit. Hon. William Huskisson, formerly one of the 
most distinguished citizens of Liverpool. The statue 
stands in a circular oratory, and was made in Rome by 
an English artist. There are several other burial-places 
in Liverpool, but to the sacred groves of none of them 
did I find time to resort. 

Perhaps the stranger’s attention is arrested, in an 
English town, by nothing more than the heavy, mas¬ 
sive, frowning appearance of the public and private 
buildings. The eye of an American, which has long 
gazed upon neat white dwellings and churches, enclosed 
in gardens of luxuriant freshness, soon tires with the 
dull monotony of a city all built of brick and stone, 
blackened by age and storms, and begrimed with the 
smoke of the chimney and the dust of the furnace. 
The buildings in Liverpool all look as if built to last 
through time. They seem to defy the heat of summer 
and the blasts of winter — the assaults of time, and 
the ravages of fire and sword. Among the churches is 
one of cast iron; and another for the blind, in which 
the singing is done by, and the congregation composed 
chiefly of, the poor, unfortunate inmates of the blind 


LIVERPOOL. 


41 


asylum, a charity which adorns the city of Liverpool 
even more than its docks, or its commercial advantages. 

While at Liverpool, I w T ent out to the new town of 
Birkenhead, which has grown up within a few years 
with great rapidity, and much resembles some of our 
cities on the lakes, in its active enterprise and cheerful 
industry. The principal object of interest here is an 
old, ruined abbey, built several centuries ago by Baron 
Haman Massie. It was once the home of religious 
men, the seat of divine and holy influences; but, like 
the religion which once flourished within its walls, it is 
now broken down, and its beauty is entirely destroyed. 

A visit to the fine old town of Chester formed an¬ 
other excursion which I took with much pleasure. 
Unlike Birkenhead, Chester bears the marks of age ; 
old Homan remains appear on every side; and the an¬ 
tiquarian will find a hundred objects of study and con¬ 
templation. All around Liverpool are quiet, pleasant 
villages, lying in great rural beauty, inviting the trav¬ 
eler to turn aside from the busy hum of labor, and the 
confusion of the crowded city,— 

“ To nature, woods, winds, music, valleys, hills, 

And gushing brooks.” 

After surveying Liverpool and its environs, we re¬ 
paired, just at nightfall, to the railway station, to take 
the cars for Manchester. The depot formed a remark¬ 
able contrast with those in our own country. It was 
erected in 1837, at an immense expense, and is lighted 
from the roof. The stone front has thirty-six Corinthi¬ 
an columns and four large arched gateways, and stands 
out in its nobility, fit exterior of this great palace of 
transportation. On leaving the station, the train enters 
a long tunnel, dark as Egypt, and dreary as night. 

6 d* 


42 


EUROPA. 


This tunnel is six thousand six hundred and ninety 
feet long, seventy-five feet wide, and fifty-one feet high, 
and passes directly under the city, while over it rise 
churches, houses, halls, and places of trade and indus¬ 
try. He who had never rode in a rail-car would hardly 
be willing to begin by riding through this subterranean 
passage. The oppressive darkness, which can be felt; 
the cold, damp chill, which pierces to the bones; the 
glaring lamp on the engine, and the screaming of the 
iron horse, — all render the five minutes spent under 
the streets and temples of the great mart of commerce 
most unpleasant and disagreeable. 

On emerging from this dark passage, the traveler has 
opportunity to examine the car in which he rides, and 
the countenances of his fellow-passengers. The rail¬ 
way arrangements are very different in England from 
ours in America. There are three classes of cars, and 
for either of them the traveler purchases his ticket 
as he may choose. Having secured his ticket, he is 
sent into a room where he finds others who are to ride 
in the same class cars. If he he a third-class passen¬ 
ger, he does not see those who are to ride in the first 
and second-class cars. They too are shut up, to await 
the hour of starting. When this arrives, the first-class 
passengers are taken from the room where they have 
been held in durance, and seated in the cars, and the 
doors are closed, and, in some instances, locked. Then 
the second-class passengers are seated, and at length 
the third. The cars are short, being only about eight 
feet long and six wide, and are frequently divided by 
a partition as high as the head of a person sitting. 
The first class are well arranged, well fitted, and com¬ 
fortable ; hut the fare in them is so high, that few be¬ 
sides the nobility and the wealthy ride in them. The 


LIVERPOOL. 


43 


second class are destitute of cushions, and almost every 
other comfort. On the hard seat, with the straight 
back, the passenger is compelled to sit, with his feet 
covered up with boxes and baggage, gazing upon the 
placards which are pasted up on the sides and ends of 
the car. Generally these cars have two seats, each 
holding five persons — one half looking into the faces 
and trampling upon the feet of the other half. The 
window, or ventilator, as it should he called, is a small, 
square aperture in the door, like the window of a 
coach, and sometimes has a slide of glass, but more 
generally of wood, to keep out the rain. Smoking, 
snufl-taking, tobacco-chewing are all allowed; and these 
privileges are improved by the English generally. The 
last time I rode in the cars in England, I found myself 
in company with one Frenchman and his lady, two 
young men who were smoking the most abominable 
cigars, three apparently well-bred English ladies, and 
an Irish woman. The young men kept on smoking, 
the rain dashed against the window of the car, and 
compelled us to close it; and twice or thrice during the 
day, the Irish woman drew an onion of very respecta¬ 
ble dimensions from her basket, and slicing it up with 
bread, devoured it eagerly, with as much apparent relish 
as if it were a finely-flavored peach. 

The third-class cars are somewhat longer, and have 
rough seats, like some of our baggage cars, and are no 
more comfortable or convenient. The fare is higher 
for this class than in our country for the best. Con¬ 
nected with all the roads is what is termed “ the Parlia¬ 
ment train ” — a train which government compels every 
corporation to run for the accommodation of the poor, 
at one penny, or two cents, a mile. But the accommo¬ 
dations are so wretched, the speed so slow, the stopping- 


44 


EUROPA. 


places so numerous, that few who can pay higher fare 
are willing to ride in it. 

The country between Liverpool and Manchester, 
though not the best in England, is very fine — a very 
garden; and when we passed through it, it was just 
budding into the life of spring. The banks on each 
side of the road, and the borders, were all cultivated; 
and, as we rode on, flowers were seen blooming all 
around. Increasing our speed every minute, we whirled 
rapidly by the proud, old residences of aristocratic land¬ 
holders, and the rude, thatched cottage of the peasant; 
now entering into cultivated farms, and then through 
fields of waving grain; now leaving in the distance the 
village church, imbosomed in rich foliage, like a gem 
conscious of its worth and beauty, and then rushing by 
acid works, tin works, tan works, glass works, which 
send their noxious gases out to deaden the opening 
verdure of spring; now entering the more dismal re¬ 
gions of coal burning, and then through towns and 
villages, towards the greatest manufacturing city of the 
old world. 


MANCHESTER. 


45 


III. 

• % 

MANCHESTER. 

We entered Manchester just at evening, when the 
streets were filled with stern, hard-fisted men, returning 
from their daily toil, and squalid-looking women, flit¬ 
ting along to some rude tenement, weary, faint, and 
sad. On every hand we met deformed and shapeless 
beings, — some vending coffee, and some peanuts; some 
women, some men, and some children, — living prod¬ 
ucts of a system which places mere children at the 
loom, and over the wheel, at an age when they are 
unable to endure fatigue, or resist the influence of 
confinement and weariness. 

We were amused at the readiness with which the 
people in the streets recognized us as Americans. A 
gentleman stepped up as we passed along one day, and 
inquired if we were acquainted with Mr. B., a gentle¬ 
man of Philadelphia, who was then in the city. A 
little lad followed us along some distance, and at 
length, to extract from us a few coppers, said, “ I’ll 
whistle you Yankee Doodle for a penny, sir,” and 
forthwith commenced whistling our national air, to our 
great amusement. 

Manchester is a large and beautiful city. I had pic¬ 
tured out a town of wretched appearance; long, low, 
narrow streets, filled with beggars and thieves, and 
lined on each side by the miserable habitations of 
half-paid laborers. But I was agreeably disappointed. 


46 


EUROPA. 


The streets are wide, paved with a small, brick-form 
stone, and contain many very elegant buildings of a 
public and private character. The churches are tine 
structures — some of them erected at a very great ex¬ 
pense. I have heard Lowell designated as the “ Man¬ 
chester of America;” but it no more compares with 
the Manchester of England, than does a little, rural 
village with the great and populous city — the crowded 
mart of commerce. 

The first object of interest and study to the stranger 
in Manchester is the manufacturing system, with the 
condition of the operatives, male and female. To see 
the mills to the best advantage, we inquired for one 
which should be a specimen of all the others, and were 
directed to an establishment owned and carried on by 
an enterprising manufacturer, who employs about five 
hundred persons. The outside of the mill was dingy 
and dirty, the bricks were of a very poor quality, and 
covered and begrimed with smoke and coal dust. The 
inside was of unfinished brick or stone; the walls, 
floors, stairs, all of one or the other of these mate¬ 
rials ; no wood-work seen except in the window frames, 
the doors, and in the machinery. The floors were 
slippery with oil, the walls covered with dust and 
hung with cobwebs, and the windows cracked, broken, 
and shattered. The operatives were generally younger 
than those employed in the mills in our own country, 
and would bear no comparison with that industrious, 
cheerful, and intelligent class of our own population. 
They were very poorly dressed, and very dirty. Many 
of them were deformed, and seemed to groan as they 
moved about, as if in bodily anguish. On the coun¬ 
tenances of some there were the marks of crime and 
woe, the contemptuous scowl, and the lewd, wanton 


MANCHESTER. 


47 


smirk. On other countenances were the deep traces of 
suffering and wretchedness; care and sorrow had made 
youth look haggard and withered like age. The com¬ 
parison between our own cotton manufactories and 
those in Manchester is altogether favorable to this 
country. The condition and character of the opera¬ 
tives, the construction and convenience of the mills, 
the compensation paid for labor, and the pleasure de¬ 
rived by the laborer from his toils, — all far exceed, in 
our system, the same particulars in the English system. 
I noticed that the several rooms into which I entered 
were very poorly ventilated. One large mill, with one 
hundred and sixty windows, on one side, was venti¬ 
lated by having several of those windows thrown up a 
few inches each. The comfort and convenience of the 
operatives seem not to have entered the minds of the 
employer, in many of these establishments ; and as you 
see many of the operatives, with bare feet and shiver¬ 
ing limbs, gliding over the cold stone or brick floor, 
you feel justly proud of the more enviable condition 
of operatives in this land. 

Connected with the mill in which we spent the most 
time is a school for children over nine and under thir¬ 
teen years of age, who are taught gratuitously. These 
children are employed in the mill a number of hours 
each day, the time being limited by law. Connected 
with this establishment were about ninety of these 
children, one half of whom work, and the other half 
attend school, certain hours each day, so that forty- 
five are at school, and forty-five are at work, all the 
time. While we were present, the children sung 
several little hymns, and showed us specimens of 
their needlework, which would have done no discredit 
to persons of a more mature age, and in more elevated 


48 


EUROPA. 


life. The pleasure derived in visiting this school, 
which appeared very much as do primary schools 
in New England cities, was marred by a thought 
of the sad necessity which prompted its existence. 
The generous employer we could praise; but the very 
pleasure produced by the contemplation of his benev¬ 
olence w T as mingled with the sad evidences that this 
school was but the result of the want of a proper 
system of general education, and deep, grinding pov¬ 
erty, which compelled the parent to send his little child 
into a cotton mill at a very early and tender age, ere 
the constitution was able to bear the fatigue, exposure, 
and pain. 

In looking through Manchester, I missed a most 
important appendage to a manufacturing city — the 
boarding-houses for the operatives. Among us, long 
brick edifices are erected, which have all the outward, 
and many of the internal, evidences of luxury and ease. 
Operatives at night are not driven away to rude and 
wretched tenements, where poverty and filth rule and 
ruin, or to the den of infamy, or to the street, but have 
a comfortable home provided. In Manchester, each girl 
boards herself where best she can; and consequently 
many of them scarcely live at all. When they are 
sick, no care is taken of them; and they die uncared 
for and unmourned. Vice must be the product of 
such an arrangement; and we have no • reason to be 
astonished when we are told that many leave the path 
of rectitude and virtue, and sink into the depth of ruin. 
One of the wisest and most humane provisions for the 
comfort and safety of operatives in our American towns 
is found in the neat, spacious, and even elegant board¬ 
ing-houses, in the kind and maternal care exercised by 
the women who have the charge of them, and the wise 


MANCHESTER. 


49 


rules which are adopted by the corporations to secure 
the necessary ends of order and good behavior. 

But Manchester is not famed for its cotton manufac¬ 
tures alone. A vast amount of machinery is turned 
out every year, which is carried to every part of the 
kingdom. I visited the Atlas Machine Shop, where 
seven hundred and fifty men are now employed, which 
number is sometimes increased to twelve or fifteen 
hundred. In the first room, several large locomotives 
were being put together; and in some twenty rooms 
or more, into which we were introduced, all kinds of 
work were in progress, from the forgery and the foun- 
dery which gleamed, sparkled, and blazed, to the neatly- 
fitted apartment where the artist was executing his de¬ 
signs and preparing his models. 

As I passed out, I noticed a box in the counting- 
room, in a conspicuous place, on which was a respect¬ 
ful notice requesting the visitor to drop in his tribute 
money for the relief of such of the workmen as should 
have the misfortune to be deprived of health. The 
attendant informed us that, out of the large number 
employed, some were sick all the time, and that large 
sums of money were collected in this way for their 
benefit. I dropped in my piece of money with the 
greatest pleasure, and regarded the plan as a most 
valuable one, which, perhaps, might be carried out to 
advantage even in this country of plenty and charity. 

We closed our examinations of the manufacturing 
establishments by standing at the gate of one of the 
mills, to see the operatives as they came out. At the 
appointed hour, the gates were thrown open, and the 
living stream came pouring forth, upon which we gazed 
until we almost imagined we were in Lowell or Law¬ 
rence ; nor were we wholly undeceived until the last 

7 e 


50 


EUROPA. 


one had passed from our view into some dirty abode, to 
swallow in haste an ill-prepared meal, and we aroused 
to see no familiar countenances and scenes, but to gaze 
upon the strange streets and buildings of one of the 
cities of the old world. 

This much done, we bargained with a hackey to 
drive us about the city, and show us the lions of the 
place. We drove rapidly out to Manchester College, 
a fine edifice, ornamented with turrets, and surmounted 
by a tower, and located in a charming spot; by St. 
Margaret’s Church, which our driver (wishing to tell 
us it did not belong to the establishment) said was 
independent of all religions; to the barracks of the 
horse and foot soldiers, quartered here to the number 
of several hundreds, supported in their lazy dignity by 
government; to Salford Borough Museum, a most val¬ 
uable institution, designed to bring the means of read¬ 
ing and recreation within the reach of the poorer 
classes — its halls filled with people of the lower 
order, its walls hung with fine paintings, its museums 
of the choicest selections, its windows commanding an 
extensive and beautiful view, and all brought by the 
hand of charity within the reach of the poorest la¬ 
borer, who has not a shilling which he can call his 
own; to the Exchange, one of the largest rooms in Eng¬ 
land, where several hundreds of men were all talking 
at once; to banks, halls, and parks, — until we began 
to feel acquainted with the city and its inhabitants. 

There is a cathedral in Manchester; and never hav¬ 
ing seen one, I was anxious to do so. The old church 
dignified by this appellation w r as built in the time of 
Henry VIII. Exteriorly it is rough, ragged, and un¬ 
comely. The architecture is of no definite order, 
irregular, confused, and inelegant. On the tower, 


MANCHESTER. 


51 


several hideous-looking images are carved, their heads 
protruding, as if so many demons were glaring out 
upon the churchyard beneath. In entering the edi¬ 
fice, we pass through the yard, over the flat slabs laid 
down to mark the graves of the dead. We reach the 
building, and pass through the vestibule into the in¬ 
terior, where the floor is composed of marble slabs, 
bearing inscriptions nearly effaced by time. The walls 
are marred and disfigured by these mementoes of 
death. The interior compares with the exterior, as to 
the confusion and irregularity of the architecture. In 
the centre aisle is an eagle, with spread wings, stand¬ 
ing on a ball. This serves as a reading-desk. Behind 
is the chancel, of very ample proportions, finely deco¬ 
rated, and very Popish in its appearance. On one side 
is a box, called the pulpit, into which the minister 
mounts when he performs that very unimportant ap¬ 
pendage to the English church service — the sermon. 
The pews all bear the marks of “a century ago.” 
They are numbered and labeled, according to the rank 
and grade of those who occupy them. One was for the 
treasurer, one for the recorder, and down through all 
the grades of office in the city government. The fam¬ 
ilies of these functionaries sit apart, in pews numbered 
and marked with their distinctive offices. One pew r or 
bench we saw marked “ the stranger’s pew.” A long- 
bench for the church-wardens bore the date of 1687. 
On one side, under the gallery, was the baptismal font, 
of white marble, with inscriptions deemed appropriate 
by those who placed them there, such as, “Not by 
works of righteousness that we have done,” &c. The 
cover of this vessel was a finely-carved piece of wood, 
suspended by a chain from the ceiling above. It was 
spiral in its form, of Gothic order, and was about six 


52 


EUROPA. 


feet high, from the top of the basin. We raised this 
cover, and dipped our sacrilegious hands into the font, 
which was filled with water, but were conscious of no 
healing efficacy being derived therefrom. My idea of 
a cathedral was not realized in this first specimen; 
and I went away thinking I could remember an old 
church in America more beautiful in my estimation, 
and associated in my mind with more hallowed mem¬ 
ories, than this proud and venerable pile, which has 
stood on this spot so many years, and to which kings 
and princes came to worship in days of yore. 

Having been in England a few days, I began to 
notice the peculiarities of the people. We are accused 
of our “Yankeeisms”— our “I reckon” and “I guess,” 
and similar phrases, which are peculiar to the States. 
But we soon became convinced that our English friends 
have nothing to reproach us with on that score. On 
inquiring the way to our hotel, we were told that it 
was “ a long bit of a way down; ” or “ a nice large 
piece up ; ” or “ a big, long way over.” If at the mu¬ 
seum we asked the name of a certain bird, we were told 
that it was a “howl.” Frequently we were told “the 
hair hout was ot,” and “ Prince Halbert” was described 
as a nice young gentleman. These provincialisms, 
which sound so strangely to our ears, are familiar to 
them; and our by-words and catch-phrases are as sin¬ 
gular and uncomely in their estimation as are theirs to 
us: so, in these respects, the two countries have no 
reason to reproach each other. 

Were I to sum up my idea of Manchester in a few 
words, I should say it was a larger city, a more quiet 
and orderly city, a neater and more beautiful city, — 
more desirable as a place of residence, and less odious on 
account of its crowds of paupers, — than I had before 


MANCHESTER. 


53 


imagined. I think the general impressions which exist 
in many minds in America in relation to this city are 
not well founded, and a visit to it would dissipate 
many of the erroneous impressions which now prevail 
so extensively. 

We left Manchester for Birmingham one evening 
about dusk. Like lightning, or very certainly faster 
than I ever rode before, we passed towns which were so 
far below us that we could look down upon the roofs 
and chimneys; brooks and little ponds, where, in the 
fading light, swans could be seen flapping in the water ; 
green bowers, where children, whose forms could scarce¬ 
ly be seen, were at play, and rich fields of grain, which 
waved in the night breeze, or nestled in the pale light 
of the new moon ; brick yards, where men and women 
were employed; iron founderies, which sent out their 
lurid fires to render night more dismal; until all alike 
were concealed from us in the darkness of the night, 
save only some flashing fire from chimney, kiln, or 
foundery, which lent a dismal aspect to the surround¬ 
ing blackness. 

e * 


54 


EUROPA. 


IV. 

BIRMINGHAM. 

We arrived at Birmingham late at night, and found 
the streets full of disorderly and half-drunken people. 
Some kind of a festival during the day had given “ lewd 
fellows of the baser sort ” an unusual license to indul¬ 
gence, and we found our way to a hotel through clus¬ 
ters of profane, irreligious, and abandoned men and 
women. My first impressions of Birmingham were 
unfavorable; and I have noticed, in all my journeyings, 
that first impressions are the strongest, and cling to 
me sometimes after facts have proved that they were 
ill founded. These impressions were confirmed by a 
conversation I had with a policeman, whom I found in 
front of my hotel, who gave me a vivid description of 
some of the scenes of crime in this place. Pointing to 
a long, dark, narrow street, he said, “ There are more 
crimes carried on and concealed in that street than in 
any one of its length in the world.” Hence, I retired 
to rest with no very favorable idea of the good habits 
of the people of Birmingham. But the sun of the 
next morning, which arose bright and beautiful, and 
shed a flood of gladness over the great city, gave a more 
favorable representation than did the dark streets the 
evening before; and as I pursued my way from one 
public edifice to another, from one great industrial 
exhibition to another, all the impressions of the last 
night were effaced by the display of beauty, skill, and 
wealth which meets the eye in every direction. 


BIRMINGHAM. 


55 


My first visit was to the Papier Mache Manufactory, 
where the whole process was laid open to us. The 
manufacture of papier mache articles is much more 
simple than I had believed. The basis of the work is 
a coarse gray paper, four sheets of which are pasted 
together and dried, then four more, until the substance 
is of the required thickness. The thick hard board 
thus made is then cut and cast into the proper form 
and size, and then painted and coated. The pearl is 
then glued on, and a varnish applied to the whole, 
which is rubbed down with pumice stone, until the 
surface is even. Figures are then drawn or painted 
according to the taste of the artist, after which the 
whole is washed and polished. In the saloon con¬ 
nected with this establishment, we saw a great variety 
of articles thus made, such as chairs, tables, chess¬ 
boards, lounges, and ornaments of all descriptions. 

We next came to the Electro Plate Works of 
Elkington, Mason, & Co., where the process of plating 
with silver and gold was shown us. Six hundred per¬ 
sons, mostly women, are here employed, and articles of 
immense value are continually being turned out. The 
saloon, into which we were shown by the very gentle¬ 
manly proprietors, was full of the finished articles, 
forming a rich display, such as can be seen nowhere 
else in England. A day we spent in visiting the 
different manufactories of the place. From the Electro 
Plate Manufactory, we passed to the Glass Works, next 
to the Bronze and Brass Works; then, to Gillott’s 
Steel Pen Manufactory, and thus through whatever of 
interest we could discover. 

The stranger in Birmingham is urged to visit the 
Town Hall, said to be the most spacious room in 
England. It is built from the model of an ancient 


56 


EUROPA. 


Grecian temple. It stands upon a rough, coarse base¬ 
ment, on which rise beautiful marble columns, each 
weighing twenty-six tuns, and being thirty-six feet high, 
forming one of the most beautiful exteriors seen in 
England. The hall is one hundred and forty-five feet 
long, sixty-five broad, and sixty-five high, making six 
hundred thousand cubic feet, and is capable of seating 
nearly five thousand persons, and standing an indefi¬ 
nite number of others. 

In this hall is an immense organ, which is thus 
described by an inhabitant of Birmingham: “ The organ 
case is forty feet wide, forty-five feet high, and seven¬ 
teen feet deep. The largest wood pipe measures, in the 
interior, two hundred and twenty-four cubic feet. The 
bellows of the organ contains three hundred square 
feet of surface, and upwards of three tuns w T eight upon 
the bellows are required to give the necessary pressure. 
It is calculated that the trackers in the organ, if laid 
out in a straight line, would reach above five miles. 
There are seventy-eight draw stops, four sets of keys, 
and above four thousand pipes. The weight of the 
instrument is about forty tuns; it cost about four thou¬ 
sand pounds, and in the depth, powder, variety, and 
sweetness of its tone, far surpasses any in Europe/’ 
This latter assertion is a matter of doubt, inasmuch as 
there are one or two others equal, if not superior, to this. 

From the hall I found my way to the grammar 
school founded by Edward VI., in 1552. The build¬ 
ing used by this school is a fine Gothic edifice, of very 
elaborate design, quadrangular in form, with a front 
one hundred and seventy-four feet long, and was erected 
at a cost of about forty thousand pounds. The school 
is divided into two departments, one for the study 
of the English branches, and the other for the classics. 


BIRMINGHAM. 


57 


This school was founded, and originally supported, by 
the income of a piece of land amounting to but thirty- 
one pounds. In consequence of improvements being 
made on and around it, the income has now increased 
to seven thousand pounds. About five hundred boys 
are here educated, without expense to their parents, by 
one principal and twelve or fifteen assistants. The 
principal received us with much courtesy, and con¬ 
ducted us through the various apartments. His salary 
is four hundred pounds. This school forms a most 
noble charity, and is one of the ornaments of that great 
city. There are four other schools, which, in a city 
of about two hundred and twenty thousand inhab¬ 
itants, give instruction to about one thousand children, 
on the same foundation. 

As I left the school, and passed along to St. Martin’s 
Church, which was said to be a curiosity in its way, I saw 
the celebrated statue of Nelson, in bronze, which was 
executed nearly a half century ago, at an expense of 
about twenty-five hundred pounds. Statues of Nelson 
may be found all over England, as thick as gods in 
India. He is the naval hero of the nation, and “ Nile ” 
and “ Trafalgar ” are names known to the most ignorant 
children in the highways. His notable words, “ Eng¬ 
land expects every man to do his duty,” form the motto 
of thousands, and are inscribed on marble and engraved 
in brass and iron. 

We arrived at the old church, which was built about 
nine hundred years ago, by William de Birmingham. 
It was cased with brick about two hundred years ago, 
to keep it from falling down. The most notable things 
about this church are the effigies in marble, as large as 
life, which are supposed to have been made about ten 
centuries ago, and are here preserved. Very curious 

8 


58 


EUROPA. 


would they be in some museum of antiquities, but in a 
Christian church are only deformities, which turn the 
mind of the worshiper away from the true God. As 
I stood in this venerable structure, and looked up to its 
crumbling walls, the brevity of man impressed itself 
most powerfully upon my mind. Here, I thought, is an 
edifice which has outlived its designer, and all who saw 
it rise; and even the page of history does not tell when 
its foundations were laid, while brief man continues 
only threescore years and ten, and then decays. There 
are some singularly constructed and singularly named 
churches in all the old English towns. I frequently 
saw churches called by the follo wing names: “ All 
Saints,” “ St. Catharine’s,” “ St. George’s,” “ St. Bride’s,” 
“ St. Sepulcher’s,” and one or two blasphemously bore 
the name of “ St. Savior.” 

As my object in traveling was more to see men than 
things, I inquired one evening for some place of literary 
entertainment, or religious worship, and was informed 
that Rev. John Angell James was to preach in his 
lecture-room in Carr’s Street. I found the place, and 
went into a small room, dingy in appearance, irregular 
in form, poorly lighted. The people were singing as I 
entered, all over the house, in one of the most harmo¬ 
nious discords I ever heard. Mr. James was in the 
pulpit ; he is about sixty years of age, inclining 
slightly to corpulency. His hair is gray, his counte¬ 
nance full, and beaming with English good nature. 
He is not like our lean, pale, cadaverous looking 
clergymen, who glide like specters into their pulpits, 
and squeak out a dolorous sound which they call a 
sermon, and retire, as their congregation sometimes 
imagine, to their tombs, but a robust Englishman, who 
looked as well able to hold the plough, or eat a dinner, 
as to write a sermon. 


l 


BIRMINGHAM. 


59 


His text, on this occasion, was from Isaiah. His 
theme, as near as I could discover, was, the presence 
of God the joy of the church. This was treated under 
two general divisions: 1. God in the church. ( a.) By 
the mediation of Christ. (5.) By His providences. 
( c.) By His Holy Spirit. 2. The duty of the Christian 
to rejoice in this fact, (a.) Because the condition of 
the church is secure. ( h.) Because her progress is 
onward. ( c.) Her ultimate triumph is certain. This 
discourse was evidently delivered without much previ¬ 
ous preparation. The style was heavy and lumberous, 
and I left the chapel disappointed. Had this been my 
only opportunity of hearing this distinguished man, I 
should have regretted that I heard him at all. But 
when I listened to him afterwards, in Exeter Hall and 
other places, all I had ever anticipated in his eloquence 
was more than realized. 

At the close of the service, I had a few minutes’ 
conversation with him. His conversational powers are 
great; he inquired about our country with much in¬ 
terest, and said, “ All the world is looking to Amer¬ 
ica.” He evidently has few of those feelings common 
to the people of England, which lead them to look 
down with contempt upon any thing and any person 
from America. His comprehensive mind looks upon 
the vast extent and rising energy of the new world 
with a pleasure and solicitude which indicate his ac¬ 
quaintance with our institutions and prospects. And 
here I may remark, that I found throughout England 
a great degree of ignorance, among people generally 
well informed, in relation to our country. The people 
are acquainted with the plans and politics of France, 
Austria, Russia, and other Eur’opcan nations, but seem 
to be almost entirely destitute of information as to 


60 


EUROPA. 


our geography, institutions, and progress. The gen¬ 
eral tone of remark in many circles would indicate 
that the people of America are but a step removed 
from barbarism, descendants of Indians — Indians them¬ 
selves, slightly improved. A few instances of this will 
show my meaning. In conversation, one day, with a 
well-educated physician of London, our remarks turned 
upon the modes of living in America; and one thing 
leading to another, I was soon aware that my kind and 
intelligent host believed that Americans, instead of 
rising and quietly retiring from the table after dinner, 
would throw their feet upon the board, and, if they 
wished, spit across, on, or under the table, as was most 
convenient. The habit of spitting is considered pecu¬ 
liarly odious, and peculiarly American; and many per¬ 
sons imagine that we are in the vulgar habit of spit¬ 
ting in the pulpit, at the table, on ladies’ dresses, and 
in the hats of friends. But as vulgar as the habit is, 
and as prevalent among us as it may be, it cannot be 
more objectionable to them than the vulgar habit of 
snuff-faking, which prevails in Europe, is to us. I 
have seen snuff taken in the stage, in the family, in 
the store, at the table, and in the pulpit, by men who 
make the highest claim to gentility and fashionable 
education. A distinguished clergyman in Paris, on the 
day when I went to hear him, paused at the close of 
every division of an able discourse, and deliberately 
drawing his snuff-box from his pocket, used its con¬ 
tents, and then went to preaching again as furiously as 
a farmer would go to mowing after a potent dram. 

Of our geography they seem to know as little as of 
our habits. A clergyman asked me one day if New 
England was in Massachusetts. Had I asked him if 
Europe was in Italy, he would have ridiculed my 


BIRMINGHAM. 


61 


ignorance, and justly too; and yet my question would 
have been as reasonable as his. A gentleman who was 
presiding at a temperance meeting in Exeter Hall — 
the editor of a London paper -— introduced a speaker 
as from Portland, Massachusetts. He was corrected; 
but, making another blunder, he said, 44 The gentleman 
is from Maine , Massachusetts.” Should the presiding 
officer of a meeting in America introduce a speaker 
as from Scotland , England, the children present would 
smile at his ignorance; and yet the moderator of a meet¬ 
ing in England feels no blush if lie makes such a mis¬ 
take with reference to our country. You may remem- 
ber that, on one occasion, Mr. Webster was spoken of 
by a distinguished Englishman as a 44 member of the 
Upper Senate of New York” — a blunder very pardon¬ 
able in a child or an ignoramus, but not in a statesman 
or a man of letters. 

One day, on the platform of Exeter Hall, I met 
with a distinguished member of the society of Friends. 
He asked where I was from, and who I was, and added, 
44 Why, thee talk our language as well as we do”—the 
poor man evidently thinking we used here the dialect 
of the Indians, or the brogue of the Irish, when the fact 
is, the English language is used nowhere in the world 
with as much purity as in New England; and of this 
fact all Englishmen who have ever visited our country 
are aware. I repeatedly heard the remark, when I in¬ 
formed friends with whom I became acquainted where T 
was from, 44 Why, you are no darker than our people! ” 
or 44 You are as light as an Englishman ! ” —as if they 
expected I was of a copper color, when all the blood 
which flows in my veins I have derived from an Eng¬ 
lish ancestry. In the great exhibition, in the depart¬ 
ment of America, are two model Indians, adorned in 

F 


62 


EUROPA 


all tlie quills, feathers, and laces of an Indian chief and 
his wife, or squaw. An intelligent-looking lady one 
day was overheard to ask a member of the House of 
Commons, with all apparent seriousness, if “ all Amer¬ 
icans w r ere like these.’' 

If I should say that this ignorance of and prejudice 
against America was found in all circles, it would not 
be true. Where America is knoAvn, she is appreciated; 
and among all the people of different nations, I have 
found none more agreeable and kind than our English 
friends. When once you get under the cold, icy, out¬ 
side crust of English life, you find the finest and most 
delightful society in the world. 

But we return to Birmingham. To its credit be it 
said, it has, with its two hundred and twenty thousand 
inhabitants, about sixty churches, some fifty of which 
are evangelical, and but few theaters; many pious min¬ 
isters, and few preachers of error; many scenes of 
pure and reasonable recreation, and very few which are 
degrading and vicious. It is one vast workshop — one 
industrial exhibition, in which all trades are represented. 
Here may be found all kinds of iron work, glass works, 
tin and brass works, button manufactories, pin and pen 
factories, electro plating, papier mache working, India 
rubber works, manufactories where fire-arms, metallic; 
furniture, cloth, and almost every other namable article 
is produced in the most finished manner, and in the 
largest quantities. 

Nor docs the stranger find the country surrounding 
Birmingham to be destitute of interest. Out at a little 
distance is Coventry, and the old ruins of Kenilworth 
Castle, and Warwick Castle and town, in which still 
remain the evidences of former greatness — the halls 
where kings and queens reveled in luxury. Still beyond 


BIRMINGHAM. 


63 


is Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of William Shak- 
speare, with the old house in which he was born still 
standing. Still farther off is Dudley Castle, memorable 
in the history of the past, and living with the associa¬ 
tions which link the past to the present and the future. 
Indeed, every inch of ground in this vicinity is historic; 
every cliff, and hill, and vale bring to mind some scene 
of glory or shame of which poets have sung, or over 
which orators have grown eloquent. 

We left Birmingham early one morning for London, 
the Babylon of modern times; and into that great city 
our readers, in the next chapter, will be taken. 


64 


EUROPA. 



v. 

GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 

One day, about ten o’clock in the morning, I found 
myself in a London omnibus, rolling away from the 
railroad station, towards I knew not where, near the 
center of the great city. Where we were “ put down ” 
mattered little to myself and associates. We had no 
home; and one part of the city was as likely to afford 
us a stopping-place as another. The streets were 
blocked up with carriages and cabs, and crowds of 
\ busy men were moving to and fro. Now we were 
obliged to wait until the street-way could be cleared; 
and anon we were dashing on by proud churches, well- 
filled stores, and grand residences. Near the Bank we 
left the “ bus,’’ and commenced our search for a tem¬ 
porary home. We soon found that we could live any 
where, and at any price; for, notwithstanding the 
crowded state of the city, we found “ apartments to 
let ” in great abundance. We soon engaged lodgings, 
including breakfast, service, &c., for three shillings and 
eightpence per day. Under this arrangement, we were 
to find our dinner and tea where we could, which usu¬ 
ally cost about three shillings more, making our daily 
expense six shillings and eightpence. To this was to 
be added the expense of washing, sight-seeing, riding, 
and other extras, which we found, notwithstanding the 
cheapness of our board, to amount to a considerable 
sum by the close of the week. 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


65 


My companions, being somewhat particular as to 
what they ate and where they slept, determined to 
make an effort to improve our condition, and forthwith 
commenced a most amusing search for a new abode. 
One of the visits which we made, one morning, I may 
as well describe. Seeing a notice on the window of a 
house on G— Street, informing the public that “ rooms 
were to be let,” we inquired. An elderly lady, stiff and 
starched, opened the door, and in a shrill tone inquired 
what we wanted. Our first business was to examine 
the lady. We eyed her from head to foot — from her 
cap, which was none of the cleanest, and that covered 
a head which certainly had not been too neighborly 
with the comb, down to the shoe, which, as she walked, 
went up and down, down and up, in heelless propriety. 
Having satisfied ourselves on this point, we were shown 
up over a narrow and crazy staircase, into a bed-room, 
which we were informed would do for two. The bed 
was a small one; but our persevering hostess surveyed 
us leisurely, and decided that one of my companions 
and myself could occupy it comfortably — on the prin¬ 
ciple, I suppose, that he, being a man of aldermanic 
proportions, could occupy two thirds, while I, being of 
much smaller dimensions, could content myself with 
the other third. The room was also small; but here 
our Yankee ingenuity suggested a plan by which all 
difficulty arising from this might be obviated, which 
simply was, that each could use it half of the time. 
So far so good. We now began to inquire what could 
be done for our companion; for we were three. We 
were escorted into another room, which w r as to be our 
parlor, and in the middle of which w r as a rickety sofa, 
on which were some bed-clothes. This was the bed for 
the third. Now, it happened that, while the bed was 

9 f* 


66 


EUROPA. 


very short, the man was very long. But we measured 
(with the eye) the bed, and then the man, and finally 
concluded that, with a few crooks and turns of the 
lower limbs, he could be made to stay thereon ; and we 
pronounced it “ very good.” But it is not to be sup¬ 
posed that we should be received without some inquiry 
into our plans and characters ; and the good lady began 
to ask who we were, and what we wanted in the great 
city. The rules of her house, she said, were strict: 
she had some boarders already, who were very correct 
in their habits, among whom were two persons con¬ 
nected with the “ gentry,” which she thought a great 
inducement for us to stop with her. We had been in 
London so short a time, that we had seen none of the 
gentry; and you may judge how much this fact must 
have weighed with us. In reply to all her questions, 
we told her that we were three very modest, amiable 
men from America, who had come over to see the 
Fair; that we were clergymen, and, of course, would 
keep very good hours, and behave properly; that we 
were very well-bred men, and would endeavor not to 
offend the delicate ears of the “ gentry ” whom we 
might meet at her house. We left the door with the 
remark, that, if we decided to make her house our 
home, we would call again in a few hours. 

I will not tell you how many visits like this we made, 
before, a few days afterwards, we found ourselves lo¬ 
cated in the family of a fine, intelligent English woman, 
in Arundel Street, within a walk of five minutes of 
Exeter Hall on one side, and St. Paul’s on the other — 
midway between the Strand, flowing with life, and full 
of beauty, and “ old Father Thames,” covered with gay 
steamers, and alive with its busy industry. Here our 
expenses were slightly more than at the place where 
we stopped on our arrival. 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


67 


Being now comfortably settled, we began to look 
around, and attend to the objects of interest which 
every where presented themselves. London is a won¬ 
derful city, forming, with its environs, a vast mass of 
buildings, packed in and piled up, and crowded with 
people. “ You can travel,” says one, “eighteen miles, 
from Brentford to Stratford, through an uninterrupted 
succession of thickly-planted houses.” The city of 
London itself is a very small spot, with St. Paul’s for 
its center, extending in one direction to Temple Bar, 
and in the other to Aldgate. The lord mayor presides 
over this little territory, while the city of Westminster, 
the Tower Hamlets, and the different boroughs, are 
under other administrations. But while the city is 
small, London, in the aggregate, is a vast and densely- 
populated territory, stretching east and west eleven 
miles, and north and south six miles, lying on both 
sides of the River Thames, linked together by bridges 
of wood, stone, and iron; having within its limits, 
according to the nicest calculations, two hundred and 
fifty thousand houses, two million and one hundred 
thousand inhabitants, with one hundred and twenty- 
five thousand visitors, constantly coming and going, 
swelling the mighty tide of life which is ever sur¬ 
ging in and out of the open gates. I have walked 
along the streets for hours, bewildered with the din and 
confusion of the scene. The impressions which I 
received as a man were very much like the impressions 
which I received as a child, when I first visited a great 
manufacturing establishment. The noise, the hurry, 
the confusion of the whole scene, arrested the current 
of life, and I felt awed as I gazed upon the revolving 
wheels, and hard-working engines, products of the 
genius of man. And when I roamed day after day 


68 


EUROPA. 


along the streets, through the crowded thoroughfares, 
up the little alleys, and down the obscure lanes of the 
great metropolis, all alive with industry, and moving 
with human beings, I felt awed by the imposing mag¬ 
nitude of the spectacle. 

Some of the streets of London are wide and spa¬ 
cious ; others are narrow, overhung with warehouses, 
and abound in filth and wretchedness. Along some, 
armies might move by companies and regiments; while 
in others, two wheelbarrows might find it hard to pass. 
Some of these streets are straight, and some crooked in 
all directions ; some running on for miles, and some 
short and dark; some containing the abodes of nobles, 
and some the hovels of thieves and beggars. 

The parks of London, which are very numerous and 
finely laid out, and which have been called the “ lungs 
of the city,” are open during the day, and furnish 
places of exercise and recreation for thousands of 
the people. These parks are decorated with flowers, 
trees, and ponds, and appear like gardens in the midst 
of palaces. The wisdom of the government in saving 
these open grounds from the encroachments of com¬ 
merce and industry, and keeping them devoted to health 
and recreation, is apparent. Hyde Park is the largest, 
and contains four hundred acres. Through it flows 
the Serpentine, on which little pleasure boats are seen 
gliding about, and aquatic birds amuse themselves, and 
furnish sport for the beholder. 

The public gardens at Kensington, and in Regent’s 
Park, and in other places, are open summer and winter, 
and draw great crowds ; in summer to enjoy the shady 
walks, and in winter to find amusement and instruction 
in the zoological exhibitions which are held there. 

In the parks, and indeed all over London, noble 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


69 


statues and monumental piles, to commemorate illustri¬ 
ous deeds, and perpetuate illustrious names, are found, 
which add remarkably to the beauty of the city. In 
Trafalgar Square rises a most beautiful column, — 

“ Designed for Nelson of the Nile, 

Of Trafalgar, and Vincent’s heights — 

For Nelson of the hundred fights.” 

In Carlton Gardens rises the noble column of the 
Duke of York, on which a bronze statue of the old 
man stands looking down from the elevation of one 
hundred and twenty-four feet, upon the moving crowds 
below. 

In Fish Street is a Doric shaft, two hundred and two 
feet high, erected in commemoration of the great fire 
which, in 1666, swept with desolating fury through 
the city, reducing it to a heap of smouldering ruins. 
Around its base, life swarms, heaves, and surges, while 
above is seen an urn of blazing fire, which glistens in 
the sun, and is the expressive memento of a conflagra¬ 
tion such as Europe never saw in a time of peace 
before. Besides, there are many columns and statues, 
in stone and bronze, of Nelson, Wellington, the kings 
and queens of the past and the present, orators and 
statesmen, warriors and priests, which rise all over the 
city, like so many expressions of living gratitude to 
departed worth. 

The people of London have sufficient amusement. 
Exeter Hall is open almost every evening for some 
kind of entertainment. Oratarios and concerts are held 
every week, and sometimes every evening of the week. 
Public lectures of a literary and scientific character are 
advertised in every paper. Churches are open at almost 
all hours ; twenty-one theaters, as the guide-books 


70 


EUROPA. 


inform us, are in full operation. Exhibitions of paint¬ 
ings, panoramas, and dioramas are placarded on every 
corner. Wax figures, bronze work, marble statuary, 
are presented for the examination and patronage of the 
people. Public gardens, in which are many pleasures 
during the day, and music and fireworks in the even¬ 
ing, are continually open; while performances of a 
lower character, immoral, beastly, and degrading, are 
held covertly and in concealment. Whatever may be 
a man’s taste, he can find something which will accord 
with it; whatever may be his inclination, he can find 
something to gratify it. He can select the purest soci¬ 
ety and pleasures, the most refined and delicate enjoy¬ 
ment, or plunge down into the depths of shame and 
infamy. He can feast his soul on the refinement and 
delight of literature and religion, or he can bury himself 
in the shades of crime, and conceal himself in dens of 
vice, into which the sun does not penetrate at noonday. 

Of the public buildings of London I have but 
little time to speak: some will come up hereafter, 
others will be passed over altogether. Let us walk 
around the city, directing our steps to objects of the 
greatest interest. We are in front of the Bank of 
England, an imposing structure, built in imitation of 
the Temple of Venus at Tivoli. Men in gold and 
scarlet question us as we pass up, and servants in buff 
coats, red vests, dark pants, and a bank medal attached 
to one of the buttons, politely conduct us through the 
premises. We find this pile of buildings to cover a 
somewhat irregular area of eight acres, built in the 
most secure and durable manner, and filled with offi¬ 
cers and clerks, who are actively engaged. About one 
thousand men are employed as clerks, porters, and 
watchmen. At night, forty soldiers are on the ground, 


GENERAL VIEW OE LONDON. 


71 


and every measure taken to prevent robbery. We see 
here men counting out bills to a vast amount, shoveling 
gold like pebbles, and handling money as if it were a 
useless thing. We pass through some sixty depart¬ 
ments, where all the various branches of banking are 
performed, from the stamping of the paper to the 
distribution of it to the people. In the vaults below 
the ground, bars of gold, and checks which have been 
drawn, one by government to the amount (I think) of 
one million of pounds, are shown us, and we pass from 
place to place with no little wonder at the magnitude 
of the operation. Vast as the whole is, the most per¬ 
fect order prevails. Each one knows his own business, 
and attends to it; and like the clock which indicates the 
time on sixteen different dials in as many rooms, so is 
all this vast human machinery moved by one man, 
who is at the head, and presides over all. We are told 
that the expense of carrying on this great banking 
operation is about two hundred and twenty thousand 
pounds annually. The whole is on a scale of grandeur 
and magnificence unequaled by any banking institution 
in the world. 

We next wend our way to the British Museum, one 
of the finest buildings in London, as vet scarcelv com- 
pleted, situated in Bloomsbury. Here the visitor must 
spend many an hour, if he would see to any valuable 
purpose this wonderful collection. We pass from 
gallery to gallery, from hall to hall, from saloon to sa¬ 
loon, in our pleasing task. In one gallery we find the 
relics discovered by Layard at Nimroud, brought here 
at an immense expense; colossal heads; monuments 
on which unread inscriptions yet appear; idols of huge 
proportions and fanciful construction; chariots and 
horsemen. In other departments, we see splendid 


EUROPA. 


72 

collections of birds, from the tiny hummingbird to the 
bald eagle, from the goldfinch to the peacock; ani¬ 
mals, from the mouse to the elephant, the walrus, and 
the mastadon; human skeletons embedded in lime¬ 
stone ; Egyptian remains in vast variety; mummies, 
some as they were brought from the land of mythology; 
others partly unrolled, and others entirely exposed. 
Every age and clime have sent contributions to this 
great collection, and here, daily, antiquarians, artists, 
and scholars come to study out the mysterious lines 
which are written on every feature of the past. The 
library connected with the Museum is the largest in the 
world. It contains more than one million volumes, ten 
thousand maps, thirty thousand manuscripts, and a great 
variety of seals, parchments, and papers. A large part 
of if was given to the British nation by George IV., 
and is well selected, possessing great value, independ¬ 
ent of the number of volumes. Here are the original 
manuscripts of Tasso, Pope’s Iliad, the works of rare 
Ben Jonson; also letters written by Napoleon, Catha¬ 
rine de 7 Medici, Peter the Great, Nelson, Mary of the 
Scots, the various kings of France, Washington, Bacon, 
Locke, Newton, Dryden, Addison, Franklin, Voltaire, 
Erasmus, Luther, Knox, Calvin, Cranmer, Latimer, 
Melancthon, Wolsey, Leibnitz, and others. One feels, 
as he gazes upon the autographs of great ‘men, who 
have moved the world, some by the sword, and some 
by the tongue, and some by the pen, that he is com¬ 
muning with the buried past. His mind is borne back to 
other days, and he sweeps with Napoleon over the field 
of blood; shouts with Cromwell, “ God and religion,” 
as he rushes to the charge ; stands with Luther before 
the diet, and pleads nobly for the great rights of con¬ 
science ; or sits down and gazes over the shoulder of 




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m 




9 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


73 


Calvin, as he composes the Institutes in his cheerless 
study in Geneva. It would require more than one day 
to describe what was seen in the British Musuem, and 
many days to utter the sentiments to which that exhi¬ 
bition gave rise. It is a noble institution, and nobly 
conducted. With the usual generosity of the English, 
the doors are open to the public; no fee or pass is de¬ 
manded ; and the richest and the poorest, the citizen and 
the stranger, can enjoy the liberality of a powerful nation. 

There are various other museums and collections of 
curiosities in London, in examining which a stranger 
may occupy weeks and months, and at the end find his 
task incomplete. Public property and private fortunes 
have been expended in this way, and no one can fail to 
express his admiration of the scope and grandeur of 
this form of public instruction and recreation. 

Turning back from the Museum, we enter St. Paul’s 
Church, the largest and most magnificent in the king¬ 
dom. This noble structure was designed by Sir Chris¬ 
topher Wren, and was commenced by him in 1673, and 
completed in 1715. It is built in the form of a Greek 
cross, and is, exteriorly and interiorly, worthy of the 
great city of which it marks the center. Marble stat¬ 
ues adorn the interior, and over the whole rises a spa¬ 
cious dome, surmounted by a ball and cross, to which 
the visitor ascends by a winding staircase. Prom the 
Golden Gallery, which is just below the ball, a line 
view of London is obtained. I well remember the 
morning on which I gazed from that high elevation 
upon the sea of dwellings spread out below. The 
grandest conception of the city is obtained from this 
point. As far as the eye can reach, — north, south, 
east, and west, — the country is covered with churches, 
houses, and manufactories—one wide wilderness, losing 

10 G 


74 


EUROPA. 


itself in the misty distance. As you stand on the dome 
of St. Peter’s, you see Pome gathered close around 
you — a comfortable city, indeed, but not like this. 
Around you are the towers and tombs, the castles and 
palaces, while beyond, for miles, in the clear atmosphere, 
stretches the Poman Campagna, across which no rail 
car hurries, and on which hardly an object of interest 
or a sign of life can be seen. But from the dome of 
St. Paul’s scarcely a green spot or an open space can 
be discovered. Even the streets look like little ave¬ 
nues, and nought but the red house tops, the gilded 
spires, and the smoking chimneys arise to the sight. 

In the crypt under the church repose some of Eng¬ 
land’s most illustrious men. Beneath the center of the 
dome is the tomb of Nelson, his last battle fought, and 
his body crumbling back to dust. Near by is all that 
remains of the mortal Lord Collingwood. At a dis¬ 
tance are the resting-places of Christopher Wren, Ben¬ 
jamin West, and other men of genius. Here they sleep, 
awaiting the sound of the last trumpet, which shall call 
them again to life. 

I will not attempt to give a description of the Cathe¬ 
dral. Its dimensions will be seen by the bare an¬ 
nouncement that it is five hundred and ten feet long 
within the walls; from the floor to the center of the 
dome, three hundred and forty feet; the circumference 
of the dome within is three hundred feet — well pro¬ 
portioned, well built, and forming one of the objects of 
interest which the stranger is most anxious to behold. 
Daily devotions are held here, in which the English 
service is read, sung, chanted, or performed in the most 
dull and stupid manner imaginable. The monotony of 
the service; the indolent, careless, irreligious, and often 
gross and sensual look of those who engage in it; the 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


75 


inattention of the people; and the evident want of 
devotion in priest and worshippers, — resemble any 
thing but the worship of God. 

The churches of London are generally heavy, mas¬ 
sive, uncomely structures, but will bear comparison 
with the churches of Boston and New York. Some 
few of them are associated in our minds with great 
events in history, and some few a stranger will visit 
for their architectural beauty or antique appearance. 
Beneath them all, or around them, the dead repose; 
and the walls are often disfigured by inscriptions to the 
memory of men long since departed and forgotten. In 
St. Mary Woolnorth lies the body of John Newton, 
a former rector. A tablet, bearing an inscription writ¬ 
ten by himself, reads as follows: “John Newton — 
once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in 
Africa — was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Sa¬ 
vior Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and ap¬ 
pointed to preach the faith he once labored to destroy.” 

St. Mary-le-Bow, noted for its connection with events 
in past times, has one of the most beautiful steeples 
in London, and is a fine old edifice of Wren’s design¬ 
ing. In All-Hallows Church Milton was christened, 
and in St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, he was buried. In this 
latter church — which is memorable for the marriage 
of Cromwell with Elizabeth Bouchier, who was, as 
Oliver says, “ unto me a good helpmeet ” — repose the 
ashes of Fox, the author of the Book of Martyrs, a work 
which has done much to open the eyes of Protestants 
to the enormities of the church of Borne. In St. Sep¬ 
ulcher’s is an old bell which was formerly tolled at the 
time of the execution of criminals; and we are referred 
to a custom which some half century ago prevailed. The 
bell-ringer was accustomed to go at night to Newgate 


76 


EUROPA. 


prison, and, standing under the walls, cry aloud, so as 
to be heard by the condemned within, — 

“ All you that in the condemned hold do lie, 

Prepare you ; for to-morrow you shall die. 

Watch, all, and pray; the hour is drawing near, 

That you before the Almighty must appear. 

Examine well yourselves ; in time repent, 

That you may not to eternal flames be sent; 

And when St. Sepulcher’s bell to-morrow tolls, 

The Lord have mercy on your souls. 

Past twelve o’clock ! ” 

In Christ’s Church sleeps Richard Baxter, Cromwell’s 
chaplain, and the author of Saint’s Rest. In Temple 
Church is Oliver Goldsmith. Beneath St. Clement 
Danes lies Bishop Berkeley. Walter Raleigh’s head¬ 
less trunk is deposited in St. Margaret’s, and in the 
various temples dedicated to God may be seen words 
in praise of human frailty. In the buried vaults of 
St. Martin-in-tlie-Fields lie a medley of good and evil, 
white spirits and gray, among whom are the remains of 
Jack Sheppard, who was hanged in 1723, whose history 
is familiar to every schoolboy, and whose deeds are 
now the nursery tales of England; also Nell Gwynne, 
the story of whose misfortunes and crimes has been 
rehearsed in many a circle, and whose sad fate has 
drawn out for her many a tear of pity. The dissent¬ 
ing meeting-houses of London are generally poorly 
constructed, and destitute of all the attractions of ar¬ 
chitecture and art. I found dissenters more numerous 
than I supposed. There are nearly one hundred and 
fifty chapels for Independents, who embrace several 
denominations, and about seventy for Baptists — the 
latter including all the different shades and complex¬ 
ions of those who practice immersion. The churches 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


77 


of our own faith are peculiarly plain. I visited many 
of them, and of all I saw, only one would compare 
with our own sanctuary, for neatness and convenience. 
Badly formed and rudely constructed, many of them 
have a repulsive appearance. The people, who live 
in ceiled houses, and many of whom are wealthy, in¬ 
stead of feeling mortified and ashamed of their places 
of worship, glory in their plainness, as an evidence of 
their humility, when they have more reason to believe 
that it arises from pride and avarice. 

Leaving the churches, to some of which we shall 
return in a future chapter, we enter a steamer, and sail 
a while up and down the Thames. I have noticed a 
statement, recently, that a steamer passes under Water¬ 
loo Bridge every minute; and this fact will enable us 
to see the immense business which is done upon that 
little river. I had heard of the Thames as a broad, 
beautiful stream, and was somewhat disappointed when 
I first beheld it. It is narrow, being not more than 
nine hundred feet wide, and is continually discolored 
and dirty, the paddles of the steamers ever stirring up 
its depths. But narrow and turbid as it is, it is of 
great importance to London, and a source of national 
wealth and prosperity wdiich could hardly be dispensed 
with. It is spanned by several noble bridges, such as I 
have seen nowhere else, and which are justly admired 
by all travelers. Over these bridges throngs are con¬ 
tinually passing backward and forward—foot passen¬ 
gers and carriage passengers, drays and coaches, omni¬ 
buses and donkey carts, crowding the passages, and 
pouring into, and out of, the city in one continual flood, 
while beneath,— 

“ Through many an arch, the wealthy river rolls.” 

G * 


EUROPA. 


78 

A great attraction of the Thames is the tunnel, which, 
landing from the steamer, we enter. A man of whom 
we purchased our tickets of admission, and to whom 
we only said the simple words, “Three tickets, sir,” 
recognized us as Americans at once, and asked, “ W ill 
you not have a view of the tunnel, to take home to 
your friends in America?” Before a word could he 
said in reply, I asked, in reference to my companions, 
who were a few steps in advance, “Which of them is 
an American, sir?” “You are one,” was his imme¬ 
diate answer. 

The tunnel is gained hy descending a long, broad 
staircase, having some sixty or seventy steps. It is in 
the form of a double arch; is thirteen hundred feet 
long; each arch is about thirteen feet wide and fifteen 
high, lighted with gas, and the whole cost six hundred 
and fourteen thousand pounds. It is a noble work, but 
I can see no use to which it can be put. It is much 
easier to cross the bridges, in the clear air, than to de¬ 
scend a long flight of steps, and cross under the river, 
amid gas and vapor, with the continual fear that the 
waters will break in from the river which rolls above. 
I experienced the Yankee feeling of disappointment, 
from the conviction that this stupendous work of art 
cannot be turned to a profitable account, but that, while 
it may draw attention and elicit admiration, it will not 
be of any great public utility, hut remain a mere artistic 
curiosity. 

Leaving the tunnel, we enter again the crowded thor¬ 
oughfares of the metropolis. Clear or cloudy, wet or 
dry, the streets are full; one long, continuous, and 
unending tide of life rolling on — now streaming in 
one direction, now broken and chopped as the waves, 
now circled and turned about by the whirlpool which 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


79 


arises from the conjunction of several streets, lanes, 
and alleys, and anon gathering again, to hurry by like 
torrents to the briny sea. The questions arise to the 
lips of a stranger, “ How is this immense multitude — 
these millions of human beings — fed and clothed'? 
Where do they live 1 What do they do ? ” The former 
of these introduces us to the markets of London. One 
morning, ere the sun was seen, I found my way to 
Smithfield. I had pictured to myself a gloomy old 
place, all surrounded with mementoes of the bloody 
past. I almost fancied I should see some of the smoul¬ 
dering fire in which John Rogers was consumed, or find 
a brand half extinguished, yet remaining to tell its 
tale of martyrdom. But when I arrived at the place, 
where I half expected to sit down in silent loneliness, 
and muse upon the story of wrongs and woes, more 
to my pleasure than surprise, I found, as I before had 
been informed, that the old place of execution had been 
converted into a cattle market. Such a spectacle I 
never witnessed before — one sea of living creatures, 
huddled together to the number of six thousand beeves 
and thirty thousand sheep — lowing, bleating, and paw¬ 
ing the ground! In a few hours, this whole stock is 
disposed of, and the next morning the same is repeated, 
and thousands more are sold out to the butchers, who 
soon slaughter them, and scatter their meat through 
the city to the hungry inhabitants. As I returned from 
Smithfield, I took my way through Cock Lane, and 
was pointed to the room where the famous Cock Lane 
ghost appeared several years ago, and which threw Lon¬ 
don into an uproar, and laid the foundation for a story 
which has cheated the wise and amazed the ignorant, 
and, for aught I know, may yet be believed by some 
who suppose witches and ghosts to be veritable things. 


80 


EUROPA. 


The next morning, I strolled through Billingsgate 
Fish Market. Here I came in contact with all kinds 
of creatures, saw all sorts of sights, and heard all forms 
of speech. This market is notorious for the multitude 
of vile men and abandoned women who attend it. 
Fish of all kinds were being handed from vessels in 
great quantities, carried into the market, and again 
carried out by the costermongers, who, with baskets on 
their heads, on horses or donkeys, were going out to 
sell them through the city. It was amusing and sad¬ 
dening to see the depravity of the wretched creatures 
who thronged around. The vile expressions, the horrid 
blasphemy, and the lewd, licentious jeers give an idea 
of the awful wretchedness of some of these people; 
and I never was so struck before with the perfect pro¬ 
priety of the word “ Billingsgate,” as applied by us to 
low, angry, and menacing conversation and speeches. 
Whenever I hear this word applied, it will need no 
other adjective to express to my mind all that is low 
and degrading in human speech. 

An hour before breakfast, on the next morning, was 
devoted to a stroll through Covent Garden Market, 
devoted to the sale of culinary vegetables, fruits, and 
flowers. It stands where once was a convent, which 
was demolished to give place to a more useful establish¬ 
ment. Scarcely any thing could be finer than the ap¬ 
pearance of this market on the morning in question. 
In the market, and in the stalls adjoining, and in the 
streets, were hundreds of cords of vegetables of all 
kinds; heavy ox loads piled up with care, while con¬ 
stantly was going out a stream of men and women, to 
peddle all this through the streets of the city. We 
tried to make some estimate of the number of cords of 
vegetables; but the number to which we arrived was 


GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. 


81 


so high that I will not name it, lest it be supposed that 
we had not been up long enough to see distinctly and 
judge correctly. The fruits and flowers also made a 
very fine display; the former, rich, luscious, and tempt¬ 
ing ; the latter, fresh, blooming, odorous, and beautiful. 
One gentleman stepped up to a rich stand of fruit, and 
asked if a fine “ lot of peaches were natural or arti¬ 
ficial,” his mind being in doubt on the point. The 
seller, supposing him to be bantering, replied, “ Go 
away, go away, sir; you are natural .” 

The same evening, it being Saturday, I found my 
way into Newgate Meat Market, which is two hundred 
feet long, and one hundred and fifty feet wide; and here 
another display met my eyes. I have always known 
that Englishmen are fond of good dinners, and many 
of them give evidence that they know how to live; and 
when I went into this market, I ceased to wonder. The 
finest beef and mutton I ever saw were here, and in 
quantities enough to supply a nation. I was told that 
six or eight hundred sheep, and seventy-five or one 
hundred oxen, are slaughtered here every day. 

Leaving this market, I went to another, of a much 
poorer class. It was about eleven o’clock when I 
arrived. A hundred lights were flashing out upon the 
night, and the lower classes of people were purchasing 
the poorer kinds of food for the next day. There, 
women with a few pennies were endeavoring to secure 
a good trade; mothers, with a babe on one arm, and a 
basket on the other; little children, sent to purchase 
the cheapest bone; old men, hardly able to stagger 
home with what they had money to buy. Here came 
Poverty, creeping along by Covent Garden and New¬ 
gate, to expend her few pence in decaying vegetables 
and tainted meat. I noticed one little girl, who plain- 

11 


82 


ETJROPA. 


tively went from stall to stall, with a single penny in 
her hand, to expend to the best advantage. I followed 
her along, asked her a few questions, and when she 
made her meager purchase for her invalid mother, a 
little brother and herself, I could not resist the induce¬ 
ment to add a mite to her little treasure, that, on the 
Lord’s day, the mouth of the widow might be filled 
with food; for which I was more than repaid by 
the graceful courtesy and meek 44 thank you ” of the 
child, on whose cheek I saw a smile struggling with a 
tear. 

An old woman, with a wrinkled face and a trembling 
step, also arrested my attention. She passed up and 
down the market, to see how best her money could be 
laid out. There was such a care-worn look, such a sad 
and melancholy countenance, that pity at once led me, 
unobserved, to follow her. She filled her basket, and 
was moving away, when, wishing for an adventure, I 
said to her, in as kind a tone as possible, 44 Good woman, 
shall I carry your basket as far as I go in your direc¬ 
tion ] ” Seeing that my offer was a well-meant one, she 

/ 

gave it me with many thanks. We walked along 
together, and in a few minutes I had all her history. 
She was a widow. Her husband died when her little 
twin children, a boy and a girl, were two years old. 
Her little boy grew up, and, by his thoughtless course, 
wrung her heart with anguish, and finally left the 
parental roof, and entered the navy, and she had not 
seen him for years. 44 And O,” said she, 44 if he would 
return, I would forgive him all, and love him as I did 
when once he carried the basket for me, as you do 
to-night. When you spoke to me, sir, I thought I heard 
his voice, and had found my son.” The daughter she 
told me was dead, having worked herself to death to 


GENERAL VIEW OE LONDON. 


83 


support her mother. Now the widow lived on with 
but one hope — to see her long-lost child. At the ter¬ 
mination of the street we parted, and as I placed the 
basket on her arm and received her blessing, she said, 
with all the childishness of age, “ If you ever see 
Edgar, you will tell him to come home; won’t you \ ” 

England has much to answer for — her people, beg¬ 
gared to support a royal line and a retinue of nobles, 
are calling for reform. They read the wrong in the 
signs of wretchedness and want of thousands who 
conceal themselves in the lanes and dark avenues of 
that great city, but who come out to beg, steal, or buy, 
and then shrink back again, as if afraid of light. 

One night, as I wandered through ITolborn, I was 
delighted with the appearance of a store, which set 
forth in a prominent position, very finely illuminated. 
On one side, in flaming gas letters, appeared, “ God save 
the Queen,” and on the other, “ God bless the People; ” 
while in the middle blazed forth a crown and other 
bawbles of royalty. It was a gay sight, and I stood, and, 
with a crowd of others, gazed on a while; and as I 
looked, a pale and haggard-looking woman, tall and 
gaunt, mingled with the throng. A while she gazed 
with the rest, but at length, rising to her full height, 
and looking around upon the people, exclaimed, or 
rather shrieked out, “ Admire it, admire it; but know 
that it was wrung out of poor, old, wom-out frames, 
like mine! ” And then she commenced a rude speech 
upon the wrongs of the working class, which appealed 
to all hearts. She was soon hustled away by a police 
officer, crying, as she went, “ Bum on, burn on ; the 
wasted lamp is almost out.” 

A residence of a few weeks in Europe makes one 
painfully familiar with scenes of wretchedness and sor- 


84 


EUROPA. 


row. Starving families are represented in the street by 
squalid-looking children, haggard men, and pale, cadav¬ 
erous women. If you leave the Strand, Holborn, or 
Oxford Street, and step into the by-ways and side- 
lanes, you change at once from the rolling carriages 
of the nobles, and the rich stores, filled with splendid 
trappings, to the filth and wretchedness of squalid 
poverty. If you enter the dwellings of the residents 
in those streets, you will find children who know but 
little about a respectable meal, or a comfortable bed, 
and such degradation as will make you weep for poor 
fallen human nature. 

Often, when tired of display, and satisfied with the 
richness of the more public streets, have I stopped at 
the door of some rude tenement, and entered into con¬ 
versation with the father or mother, about the children 
who were playing around, or who shrunk away at my 
presence. They would confess, without a blush, that 
they were uneducated, and brought up in crime and 
sin. To the question, “ Do you go to church 1 ” the 
answer would be, “ Where should a poor man as me 
get clothes to wear to church \ ” or, “ How can a poor 
woman like I go into the company of the gentry 1 ” 
And thus parents and children alike grow up without 
the light of education or religion. Christianity, in the 
old world, stalks abroad in spacious cathedrals, or 
nestles down at the foot of kingly thrones, and goes 
not to the widow and the fatherless to bless and 
encourage them. Her dignity would be injured by a 
contact with the poor, despised, and ignoble, and she 
turns from them with coldness to take the hand of 
princes. This may be the religion of the church of 
England and of Rome, but it is not the religion of the 
church of God. 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


85 


VI. 

THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 

The Crystal Palace, with its crowded apartments, 
halls, saloons, and thousands of visitors, was the fortu¬ 
nate idea of Prince Albert. Ever seeking out some 
plan to benefit the nation, to share the throne of which 
he had been called by divine Providence, he con¬ 
ceived the purpose, the grandeur of which has been 
equaled only by the unparalleled success which has 
crowned it. His ready mind at once foresaw the im¬ 
mense advantage which such an exhibition would be 
to England, and he set himself to the work. His 
plans were communicated to the nobles of England 
and France; consultations were held with artists and 
mechanics, and an early attempt was determined upon. 

44 Where shall it be held?” was the first question; and 
to this but one answer was given. The city of London 
alone could furnish facilities for such a gathering, and 
it was determined to erect a building in Hyde Park, 
between Kensington 'Road and Rotten Row. The resi¬ 
dents in the immediate vicinity were naturally opposed 
to this selection; and as they could not prevent the 
progress of the enterprise, or prevail upon the com¬ 
missioners to select a new location, they procured an 
act of Parliament that the building should be removed 
as soon as the exhibition closed. 

44 What shall the building be P’ was next asked. This 
question was not so easily answered. For weeks a 


86 


EUROPA. 


building committee of engineers perplexed themselves 
with this question. More than two hundred designs 
were laid before them. One suggested that it should be 
of wood, another of brick, and a third of stone ; but to 
each plan seemed to rise some insurmountable objection. 
The public presses were fiercely engaged in the strife, 
some contending for one plan, and some for another ; 
and others still asserting that the whole enterprise 
would be a failure. At this point, a plan was submitted 
to the committee by Mr. Joseph Paxton, an eminent 
horticulturist of Chats worth. A year or two before, 
Robert Schomburgk found, growing on the banks of the 
River Berbice, a lily, which, like Byron’s pillar “ with a 
buried base,” had no name in the science of botany. 
He preserved seeds of this plant, and sent them to Mr. 
Paxton, who planted them, and gave to the shoot the 
name of “ Victoria Regia.” The lily soon grew to a 
gigantic size, and the wits of the horticulturist were 
set at work to provide some habitation for it; and he 
erected at once a glass house of such form and size as 
would answer the purpose. 

While thus engaged, it occurred to him that this 
same plan, enlarged and improved, might answer for a 
building suited to the proposed exhibition. He soon 
marked out his design, and submitted it at once to the 
committee, who were already nearly discouraged at the 
array of difficulties which presented themselves. They 
soon saw its advantages, and adopted it, and issued pro¬ 
posals for its immediate erection. Soon, in Hyde Park, 
the busy scene began. The beautiful resort of wealthy 
men and gay ladies became a great workshop, and, in 
an astonishingly limited period of time, the building 
was erected. 

The ground plan of the edifice is a parallelogram, 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


87 


one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one feet long, and 
four hundred and fifty-six feet wide. A transept inter¬ 
sects it at right angles in the middle, which is four 
hundred and eight feet long, and seventy-two feet wide. 
The building rises in three series of elevations, of the 
respective hights of sixty-four, forty-four, and twenty- 
four feet. These elevations are supported by iron pil¬ 
lars, fixed in a socket formed in a base which rests 
upon a concrete foundation. Iron braces, girders, and 
cross-bars render the whole safe and convenient. The 
columns are trellised together, and braced so as to cause 
no apprehension of danger from the winds. Of these 
pillars, there are three thousand three hundred, from 
fourteen and one half to twenty feet in hight. There 
are two thousand two hundred and twenty-four cast- 
iron girders, and one thousand one hundred and twenty- 
eight cast-iron beams for the galleries. The roof of 
the transept is semicircular, and rises to a hight of one 
hundred and eight feet, and presents to one at a dis¬ 
tance a most beautiful view. The glass is set much 
in the manner of our best-constructed greenhouses. 
The plates are forty-nine inches long. Over the whole, 
canvas is drawn, to modify the rays of the sun, and 
prevent injury from hail or storms. The iron-work is 
gayly painted, so as to give the best impression; and 
the whole structure has a light, airy, and yet substantial 
appearance, truly pleasing. It was constructed in one 
hundred and forty-five working days after the plan was 
submitted to the building committee, and cost less than 
would a cheap, ordinary building of wood. And yet 
this grand plan, and this successful design, were but as 
the work of a moment. Probably fewer hours were 
spent by the designer than are usually spent in plan¬ 
ning a tolerable barn. We will allow the architect to 
tell his own story. 


88 


EUROPA. 


“ It was not,” says Mr. Paxton himself, at a meeting 
of the Derby Institute, “ until one morning, when I 
was present, with my friend Mr. Ellis, at an early sit¬ 
ting in the House of Commons, that the idea of send¬ 
ing in a design occurred to me. A conversation took 
place between us with reference to the construction of 
the new House of Commons, in the course of which I 
observed that I was afraid they would also commit a 
blunder in the building for the industrial exhibition. 
I told him that I had a notion in my head; and that, if 
he would accompany me to the Board of Trade, I would 
ascertain whether it was too late to send in a design. 
I asked the executive committee whether they were so 
far committed to the plans as to he precluded from re¬ 
ceiving another. Hie reply was, ‘ Certainly not; the 
specifications will be out in a fortnight; but there is 
no reason why a clause should not be introduced, allow T - 
ing of the reception of another design.’ I said, ‘Well, 
if you will introduce such a clause, I will go home, 
and, in nine days hence, I will bring you my plans all 
complete.’ No doubt the executive thought me a con¬ 
ceited fellow, and that what I had said was nearer akin 
to romance than to common sense. Well, this was on 
Friday, the 11th of June. From London I went to 
the Menai Straits, to see the third tube of the Britan¬ 
nia Bridge placed; and, on my return to Derby, I had 
to attend to some business at the Board Boom — dur¬ 
ing which time, however, my whole mind was devoted 
to this project; and, whilst the business proceeded, I 
sketched the outline of my design on a large sheet of 
blotting-paper. Well, having sketched this design, I 
sat up all night, until I had worked it out to my own 
satisfaction; and, by the aid of my friend Mr. Barlow, 
on the 15th, I was enabled to complete the whole of 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


89 


the plans by the Saturday following, on which day I 
left Rewley for London. On arriving at the Derby 
station, I met Mr. Robert Stephenson, a member of the 
building committee, w T ho was also on his way to the 
metropolis. Mr. Stephenson minutely examined the 
plans, and became thoroughly engrossed with them, 
until at length he exclaimed that the design was just 
the thing, and he only wished it had been submitted to 
the committee in time. Mr. Stephenson, however, laid 
the plans before the committee, and at first the idea 
was rather pooh-poohed; but the plans gradually grew 
in favor, and, by publishing the design in the Illus¬ 
trated News, and showing the advantage of such an 
erection over one composed of fifteen millions of bricks 
and other materials, which would have to be removed 
at a great loss, the committee did, in the end, reject the 
abortion of their own, and unanimously recommended 
my bantling.” 

But the building was at length completed. The 
products of industry were brought from every clime, 
the vast edifice was filled with articles rich and valu¬ 
able, and forthwith, from every part of the civilized 
world, men journeyed towards London, to attend this 
great industrial council, and strengthen the bonds of 
human brotherhood. The world had never seen such 
pilgrims before. It had gazed upon marshaled armies, 
upon the old Palestine crusades, upon many a scene of 
religious or military exultation; but for the first time 
were all the banners of the earth seen waving over the 
temple of industry, and all the tribes of men represent¬ 
ed in one congress of art, beauty, and utility. The 
Crystal Palace was the admiration of the world; and 
the world felt proud to own and occupy it. It out¬ 
shone Buckingham and Holyrood, and is to-day an 

12 h * 


90 


EUROPA. 


object of more interest to Christendom than all the 
royal courts of throned kings and titled nobles. Peace 
has received new assistance from this great gathering; 
Art has rejoiced in this convocation of her sons; and 
Eeligion, too, feels that she has gained a triumph over 
the discordant elements which are abroad among the 
convulsed nations of the earth. Prose and Poetry have 
eulogized the undertaking; and England’s choicest poet 
— Martin Farquhar Tupper — has made it the occasion 
of one of his most enthusiastic lays: — 

44 Hurrah for honest Industry ! hurrah for handy Skill ! 

Hurrah for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit and Will ! 

The triumph of the artisan has come about at length, 

And kings and princes flock to praise his comeliness and strength. 

44 The time has come, the blessed time, for brethren to agree, 

And rich and poor, of every clime, at unity to be ; 

When Labor, honored openly, and not alone by stealth, 

With horny hand and glowing heart, may greet his brother Wealth. 

“ Ay, Wealth and Rank are Labor’s kin, twin brethren all his own, 
For every high estate on earth, of labor it hath grown ; 

By duty and by prudence, and by study’s midnight oil, 

The wealth of all the world is won by God-rewarded toil. 

44 Then hail, thou goodly gathering, thou brotherhood indeed! 

Where all the sons of men can meet as honest labor’s seed ; 

The tribes of turbaned Asia, and Afric’s ebon skin, 

And Europe and America, with all their kith and kin. 

44 From east and west, and north and south, to England’s happy coast, 
By tens of thousands, lo, they come ! the great industrial host — 

By tens of thousands welcomed for their handicraft and worth, 
Behold, they greet their brethren of the workshop of the earth! 

44 Right gladly, brother workmen, will each English artisan 
Rejoice to make you welcome all, as honest man to man ; 

And teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much to learn, 
And show to men, in every land, how all the world may earn! 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


91 


“Whatever earth, man’s heritage, of every sort can yield, 

From mine and mountain, sea and air, from forest and from field; 
Whatever reason, God’s great gift, can add or take away, 

To bring the worth of all the world beneath the human sway; — 

“ Whatever Science hath found out, and Industry hath earned, 

And Taste hath delicately touched, and high-bred Art hath learned ; 
Whatever God’s good handicraft, the man He made, hath made,—- 
By man, God’s earnest artisan, the best shall be displayed. 

“O, think it not an idle show, for praise, or pride, or pelf; 

No man on earth who gains a good can hide it for himself; 

By any thought that any thing can any how improve, 

We help along the cause of all, and give the world a move. 

> 

“ It is a great and glorious end to bless the sons of man, 

And meet for peace and doing good, in kindness, while we can ; 

It is a greater, and more blest, the human heart to raise 
Up to the God who giveth all, with gratitude and praise.” 

The exhibition was opened on the 1st of May with 
great splendor. The queen, and royal family, and Eng¬ 
land’s noblest ones, convened as they never had con¬ 
vened before; and the learned and the great became 
the patrons of labor and science. The imposing spec¬ 
tacle I did not see. Adverse winds had detained our 
ship, and on that bright May day, when the nobles of 
the realm rode along in aristocratic pride, and the 
poor and trampled turned out by squadrons to view the 
pageant, and from between their chattering teeth, for¬ 
getful of their misery, shouted, “ God save the queen! ” 
we were obtaining our first sight of land, and heaving 
up and down, Mazeppa-like, upon the great deep. 

I visited the Orystal Palace nine days after it was 
opened. Seldom have I seen so fine a spectacle as this 
edifice presented as I approached. The immense size; 
the peculiar materials, form, color, and adornments; the 
flags of all nations waving over it in peaceful pride; 


92 


EUROPA. 


the long, living stream of humanity rolling towards its 
open doors, — formed one of the most attractive objects 
upon which I ever gazed. On entering, a new scene 
presented itself. In the center of the building, an im¬ 
mense crystal fountain w T as casting out its jets of water, 
and pouring them into a basin below, around which 
fresh flowers were blooming and shedding their fra¬ 
grance. This fountain could be seen from the farthest 
extremities of the Palace, and was directly in view from 
every part of the nave and transept. About fifty yards 
from the fountain, in the transept, on either side, was a 
fine elm-tree, of the largest size, fresh and green, and 
lending a delightful charm to the whole scene. Up 
and down the nave, in the center, were fine specimens 
of statuary; on both sides were the contributions of 
all nations, while thousands of persons, from all climes, 
were moving to and fro, delighted with the gorgeous 
spectacle. Different departments were assigned to dif¬ 
ferent nations with great fairness, and each contributor 
was allowed as much space and prominence as were 
necessary to display his goods to the best advantage. 
The admirable order and the exquisite taste displayed 
in the arrangement and formation of the various de- 
2 )artments were most conspicuous, and every article 
seemed to be in just such a place, and laid in just such 
manner, as would best draw to it the attention of the 
visitor. In all the vast arrangement, there was no con¬ 
fusion. Each man seemed to know his place; and 
though, in that building, I saw fifty thousand persons 
at one time, yet in no instance did I observe the least 
breach of propriety and decorum. 

It would be useless for me to attempt to give a sketch 
of any but the most prominent articles, and even the 
reference to those must be brief and imperfect. Near 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


93 


the fountain in the center is the Koh-i-Noir, or Mountain 
of Light, contributed by the queen. The value of this 
trinket is estimated at two million pounds, and came 
into the possession of the English by the annexation 
of Lahore to the Indian territories of that kingdom. 
It was discovered in the mines of Golconda, about three 
hundred years ago, and was for a long time the property 
of the Mogul emperors. It has changed hands several 
times, and been the cause of war and bloodshed, until 
it is now sent by a Christian queen to grace the con¬ 
gress of art and industry. It weighed, before being 
cut, eight hundred carats; but a clumsy operator re¬ 
duced its weight to two hundred and seventy-nine 
carats; and yet, with this reduction, it is the largest 
diamond in the world. It is covered by a strong iron 
cage, and at night is lowered down into the base of an 
iron pedestal on which it lies. A writer in a British 
journal says, 44 A good general idea may be formed of 
its shape and size by conceiving it as the pointed half 
of a small hen’s egg.” Around this jewel a crowd of 
persons is constantly collected, eager to obtain a view 
of a gem of such great value. 

The British contributions are, of course, the most 
numerous, and occupy very prominent positions. Every 
inducement has been given to the English artists to send 
the products of their skill into this great exhibition, 
and they have nobly responded to the call. Among 
their works were several fine models of towns, churches, 
and public buildings. A complete model of Liverpool, 
showing its streets, houses, churches, docks, and ship¬ 
ping, drew much attention. It was on a large scale, 
and was a most perfect thing in its way. The model 
of the great sepulchral pyramid, which is proposed to 
be erected in Surrey, is here. It is to be nine hundred 


94 


EUROPA. 


feet high, and to contain catacombs capable of entomb¬ 
ing five millions of bodies. It is designed to be an imi¬ 
tation of the pyramidal tombs of Egypt, and to stand 
through all time — a vast monument of human mortal¬ 
ity and frailty, speaking alike of the goodness and the 
depravity of man. If this pyramid shall ever be 
erected, and rise to its contemplated bight, it will, in 
time, become an object of more interest to the nation 
than Westminster Abbey. Other beautiful models are 
brought forward to attest the high state of art, which 
win admiration from all beholders. 

Among articles interesting to the ladies may be men¬ 
tioned a very tine quilt, wrought by knitting-pins, not 
a needle stitch being found in it. In the middle is a 
fine figure, and the corners are filled up with flowers. 
The whole design is exceedingly beautiful, and worked 
by the wife of a mechanic without guide or pattern, 
except such as originated in her own mind. The wife 
of a clergyman exhibited a scarf, which was manufac¬ 
tured by herself from silk produced by silkworms of 
her own raising, and which she procured to teach her 
children the habits of these wonderful little insects. 
Thus she taught her children habits of industry, and 
gave them lessons such as they never could forget, 
and, at the same time, wrought a most beautiful fabric, 
which, amid the articles in that great assemblage, the 
stranger found time to stop and admire. A journeyman 
tailor presents a quilt about ten feet square, made up 
of forty-five hundred pieces of cloth, the whole of 
which is wrought with the needle. The center piece 
represents Britannia ruling the waves, while the bor¬ 
ders and corners are filled up with fine designs and 
exquisite workmanship. It has engaged the leisure 
time of the tailor ten years. A carpet, valued at eight 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


95 


hundred pounds, and manufactured for Victoria by 
several of her lady subjects, drew much attention from 
those interested in such work. Each lady had the 
pattern, and a square of two feet, for which she paid 
one pound. Into this square she crowded her work, 
and on it displayed her skill; and when the whole were 
finished, they were framed into one beautiful fabric 
for the use of royalty. About three hundred persons 
were employed in its completion. 

Machinery w T as contributed in great abundance, from 
a little tiny model to the huge locomotive ready to start 
off on its fiery passage. Among other articles, descrip¬ 
tions of which you have read long ere this, are the 
electric clocks of Mr. Shepherd; a new pump, by 
which the water, instead of being raised by rod, 
cylinder, and piston, is brought up by the “ centrifugal 
force,” and flows in one continuous stream — it is 
designed for draining marshes, and similar purposes, 
and a machine ten feet in diameter will pump one 
hundred and forty thousand gallons per minute; a life¬ 
boat of gutta percha, most admirably constructed for 
its purpose, which may be folded up into a compass 
of twenty feet long, and two or three feet wide. When 
in the water, it will hold one hundred men, with provis¬ 
ion and baggage. There are also marquees for all the 
different kinds of manufactures, displayed to the best 
possible advantage. 

Of carved work there was a great variety, from 
a wooden bowl to a splendid pulpit; from a child’s 
toy to a colossal statue. Bronze, glass, and brass 
work was found in great abundance, and of great 
value. The immense quantities of rich goods, and the 
great value of the articles, can hardly be estimated. 
One firm had over one million dollars’ worth of silver 


96 


EUROPA. 


and gold electro plate work, of all forms and patterns ; 
and you may walk along for hours by the most exten¬ 
sive and valuable assortments of goods ever collected 
on earth, increasing your admiration at every step. 

But the chief object of interest in the English de¬ 
partment, to me, and I think to every other Christian, 
was the exhibition of Bibles, made by the British and 
Foreign Bible Society. They have here displayed the 
sacred volume in one hundred and thirty different 
languages, into which they have translated it for the 
use of the darkened nations of the earth. Day after 
day, I wandered to this section of the building to 
admire this evidence of the missionary spirit of English 

Christians. There was no dav on which I visited the 

%> 

Crystal Palace, when I did not leave the crowded nave, 
the departments of art and skill, Turkish tents of ease 
and pleasure, the dazzling display of gold and gems, to 
find in a somewhat obscure location the Bible exhibi¬ 
tion, which in its moral grandeur outshone the brilliant 
Koh-i-Noir, and surpassed the magnificence of the Crys¬ 
tal Palace itself There, crowded out, and concealed 
behind the array of fashion, art, and beauty, it stood, 
that same Bible exhibition, a “ Mountain of Light,” 
reflecting its beams over all nations. 

The French department was well filled, with more 
showy but less substantial articles than were contrib¬ 
uted by the English. The Parisian manufacturers and 
salesmen have sent over the gaudy productions of their 
gay land, and here we found them much admired. The 
French people claim that the idea of the great exhibi¬ 
tion originated with them ; and it is true that a fair 
of an inferior character was held in Paris nearly a 
half century ago, and which in subsequent years was 
repeated. But the true idea of a world’s exhibition, a 


FACTS 


—ON— 





1. It is a fact that while as Baptists we do not hold that Baptism is a sa vino- 
ordinance ; we do hold that it is a positive command of our Lord Jesus Christ: 
and therefore a positive duty binding on every believer. 

2. It is a fact that neither of the ordinances were designed to symbolize the 

work of the Holy Spirit: but, that both were to be memorials of Christ:_ 

Baptism, of his burial and resurrection :—the Lord’s Supper, “to shew his 
death,” and also the dependence of the risen life on him for spiritual sustenta- 
tion : and both ordinances were designed to be tests of love to Him—not of 
felloicship with each other. 

3. It is a fact that the New Testament plainly designates the order in which 
the duties it enjoins shall he performed. It commands first, repentance and 
faith: s« cond, baptism ; and third—observance of all other duties. So that, 
the order of obedience is enjoined by our Lord os really as the duties themselves, 
and that order, the church, in loyalty to Him, must enforce. 

4. It is a fact that in the New Testament, baptism is antecedent to all forms 
of church fellowship, and all who are recorded as having partaken of the Sup¬ 
per, had previously been “buried with Christ in Baptism.” 

-*♦♦♦- 

BAPTISM. 

5. “ It is a, fact that the most natural inference from the accounts given of 
Baptism in the New Testament is that the act was by immersion in water. 

G. “ It is a fact that the figurative allusions to baptism, in the Bible, are 
inconsistent with any other idea than that of immersion ; nothing else repre¬ 
sents a burial and resurrection. 

7. (( It is a fact that any person who had for the first time read the scriptural 
accounts of Baptism, and witnessed an administration of the ordinance according 
to the practice of Baptist churches, could not fail to discover a correspondence 
between the record and the act. 

8. “It is a fact that it is very common for young converts to read their Bibles 
in favor of immersion, even when all their previous instruction has been 
otherwise. 









9. “ It is a fact that much effort is necessary to induce many who think of 
making a Christian profession to be satisfied with any tiling but immersion. 

10. “ It is a fact that none join Baptist churches with any doubts as to the 
validity of their baptism. 

11. “ It is a fact that none remain in Baptist churches in a state of uneasiness 
upon the subject of baptism, as to whether they have been really baptized. 

12. “ It is a fact that none ever leave Baptist churches because of their dissat¬ 
isfaction with the mode of their baptism. 

13. “It is a fact that no church in the world would refuse to receive an 
immersed person as a baptized person. 

14. “ It is a fact that at least two millions of Christians in this country alone, 
positively deny that any thing but immersion is baptism. 

15. “ It is a fact that no Presbyterian, Congregational or Methodist church 
would require an immersed person to be sprinkled in order to reception as a 
member. 

16. “It is a fact that there is hardly a Baptist church in the world in which 
there are not more or less persons who have come from other churches because 
of their dissatisfaction with any thing but immersion. 

17. “ It is a fact that Baptists never fear to have the subject of baptism inves¬ 
tigated, nor do they ever dissuade young converts from examining the subject. 

18. “ It is a fact that in a great multitude of cases immersion has been blessed 
in the religious awakening of the beholder. 

19. “It is a fact that there are precepts, examples and commands in the Bible 
in favor of believer’s baptism, and none in favor of infant baptism. 

20. “ It is a fact that the tendency of infant baptism is to supplant believer’s 
baptism, and banish it from the world, since the universal baptism of infants 
would leave none to be baptized upon becoming believers. 

21. “ It is a fact as we believe, that nothing but immersion as baptism, and 
nothing but believer’s baptism was known in the church for more than two 
hundred years after the institution of the church by Christ. 

22. “ It is a fact that a change in regard to the mode and subjects of baptism 
first began in the third century, in connection with the idea of baptismal regen¬ 
eration. 

23. “ It is a fact that infant baptism did not appear until baptism began to be 
regarded as essential to salvation. 

24. “It is a fact that infant communion came at first with infant baptism, and 
that there is as much authority for the one as the other.” 


COMMUNION. 

25. It is a fact that the “terms of communion” are precisely the same in 
Baptist churches that are authorized in all leading denominations. Their 
Standards and Books of Discipline will not admit to their communion any who 
in their judgment have not been baptized. They will not admit, any , simply be- 


cause they are Christians, and are gaing to live with them in heaven. No, their 
organic laic holds, as ice do, that baptism must precede communion, and they insist 
as much as we do, that all communicants must submit to what they believe is Bap¬ 
tism. We ask no mine. As to “ terms of communion ” then* they are as “ close ” 
as we are. 

26. Tt is a fact therefore, that our alleged “closeness” is not in our terms of 
communion at all, for they are precisely the same as those of all other leading 
denominations ; but is in our view of Baptism* which holds that only Believers 
are proper subjects; and only immersion, which symbolizes the burial and 
resurrection of Christ, is the proper mode. 

27. “ It is a fact that Baptists are not responsible for the separation of Chris¬ 
tians at the Lord’s table, since they could not unite there with the unimmersed 
without the violation of their consciences, while the unimmersed could unite 
with them without paying such a price, by being immersed, holding as they do 
that immersion is Baptism* while Baptists hold that sprinkling is not Baptism. 

28. “ It is a fact that all that is necessary for all Christians to be united at 
the Lord’s table, is for all to be baptized according to what all agree is Baptism. 

, 29. Ci It is a fact that the advocates of what is called “ open communion ” 

demand of Baptists that they should solemnly sanction sprinkling as Baptism, 
when they most honestly and decidedly believe that it is not baptism. 

30. “ It is a fact that Baptists can only be consistent with their views of baptism 
by maintaining their views of communion, the latter necessarily resulting from 
the former, so that if they are right upon baptism they are right upon commu¬ 
nion. 

31. “It is a fact that those who clamor the loudest against “ close communion” 
seldom, if ever, commune with any church but their own, there being no occa¬ 
sion, if disposition for it, and their outcry is chiefly for effect. 

32. “ It is a fact that the Lord’s Supper was not instituted for the purpose of 
manifesting brotherly love, or demonstrating liberality, and that its “open” 
observance^does not enable those who might commune together if they would, 
to love each other any better for this questionable privilege. 

33. “ It is a f(id that Christian fellowship is not dependent upon church 
fellowship, and that the one may exist without the other.” 

34. It is a fact that Christian union is not promoted by open or mixed com¬ 
munion, and that there is, to say the least, as much union between Baptists and 
Presbyterians as between Presbyterians and Methodists. 

35. It is a fact which we solemnly believe, that our special distinctive mis¬ 
sion as Baptists is to vindicate and uphold New Testament views of the subjects 
and mode of Baptism, which sustain the most vital relations to the spirituality 
of the church, and the symbolization of cardinal doctrines; and that, it is 
chiefly by maintaining the Gospel order of first, faith—then Baptism, and then 
communion, that ice perpetually bear our solemn protest against infant Baptism, 
and against every mode as baptism , which does not symbolize burial and 
resurrection. 

36. It is a fact that we yield to no other denomination in our love for all 
Christians, and in our desire to unite with them in all Christian labors—but the 
honest truth is, that we do differ from them in our views of the ordinances of 
the visible church—not from ignorance, not from bigotry, not from a spirit of 
exclusiveness—but because we cannot help understanding our Master Jesus, 
to teach, that none but a believer ought to be baptized : that baptism must 
symbolize bis death and resurrection, and that baptism must precede commu¬ 
nion. 



37. It is a fact that despite all the charges of “ close communion,” of “ bigo¬ 
try,” &c., which have been urged against Baptists and their views, that God 
has wonderfully honored and blessed them, insomuch, that although they were 
■very few in number, when in the early history of ovr country, they were fined, 
whipped, imprisoned, and banished both in Massachusetts arid in Virginia—ice 
now have in the United States fourteen hundred thousand two hundred and thirty- 
two church members ; nineteen thousand and forty-one churches ; eleven thousand 
eight hundred and ninety-two ordained ministers; six hundred and fifty-three 
thousand seven hundred and forty persons in our sabbath schools ; seven hundred 
missionaries at home and abroad ; and have received into our churches, by bap¬ 
tism, during the past year, eighty-four thousand six hundred and twenty-five 
converts. 

38. It is a fact that because of this manifest blessing of God upon our people 
and their views, we propose to remain steadfast, with “malice toward none and 
charity toward all,” firm and unmoved in our loyalty to Christ, and keep the 
old banner afloat on which is inscribed “one Lord, one faith, one baptism,” and 
at the same time we pledge ourselves to do all we can to keep “ the unity of the 
spirit in the bond of peace,” with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity 
and in truth. 


P 



; 


Troy, N. Y., Feb., 1874. 


G. 0. BALDWIN, 

0. P. SIIELDON, 

W. T. C. HANNA, 

H. G. DAY, 

A. G. DITNSFORD, 

J. McWHINNIE, 

J. N. SMITH, 

L. S. JOHNSON, 

E. D. SIMONS, 

Baptist Pastors. 


N. B.—The statements in quotation marks are by Rev. J. C. Foster, of Mass. 






































































































































































































THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


97 


great, general, universal assemblage of all nations in 
one convention of genius and art, has now for the first 
time been realized. In this gathering, all the nations 
of Europe are well represented. Benighted Spain and 
unfortunate Portugal have come out from under the 
shadow of the Inquisition, to produce their works of 
skill. Cold, rocky, mountainous Switzerland, the home 
of Tell, has claimed her place in the congress of 
nations. Hated Austria has sent her representatives, to 
prove that she can produce something of more beauty 
and utility than prisons, racks, and instruments of 
torture for the patriots of dismembered Poland and 
betrayed Hungary. Persia has come to prove that she 
shines as brightly in “ Eastern gold ” as in the old Ori¬ 
ental times, when her monarchs, now departed, sat in 
state, or lived in voluptuous pleasures. Once-feared 
and barbarous Turkey deputed her artisans to claim a 
sisterhood with the family which was gathering in the 
World’s Palace, and they were present with their rich 
and georgeous productions. Classic Greece gave evi¬ 
dence that the taste, and skill, and beauty of the past 
had, in a measure, descended to the present. China and 
America shook hands with each other; Germany and 
Egypt compare friendly notes. Papal Pome is seen 
nodding along the nave to Mohammedan Jerusalem, 
and the descendants of Ishmael are walking along 
with the sons of Benjamin. 

Time would not suffice even to enumerate the fine 
articles which all the different nations have contributed. 
There were swords, guns, and pistols, to kill men in time 
of war; surgeon’s instruments, to perform the nicest 
operations upon the human system ; musical instru¬ 
ments, from a little Genevan music box to the splendid 
organs, four or five of which were sounding all the 

13 i 


98 


EUROPA. 


time ; a Tuscan table of mosaic in stone, valued at 
six hundred thousand francs ; beautiful porcelain from 
Sevres; a dozen cardinals done up in wax, and rigged 
in all the gewgaw drapery of the corrupt church; the 
twelve apostles carved in ivory; church bells, and 
painted windows; fire engines and steam engines ; 
ploughs and reapers; raw materials in vast quantities, 
and manufactured articles of all kinds, forming an exhi¬ 
bition such as has never been seen before, and which 
we can hardly expect to see again for the next quarter 
of a century. 

You inquire, doubtless, for the American department 
of the exhibition ; and to that we now devote some 
attention. At the onset, our country was treated with 
the greatest respect. To her was given on the ground 
floor an area of fifty-one thousand two hundred and 
sixty-four feet, and more gallery room than any other 
nation, England alone excepted. The number of arti¬ 
cles from America was not so great as was expected. 
The American minister, and the friends of America in 
the old world, had hoped much, and had secured for 
the States more room than they could occupy. Conse¬ 
quently, there was an empty appearance about the 
American section, which did not contrast favorably with 
the crowded condition of sections occupied by European 

nations. The American articles w T ere not as showv 

* 

and attractive to the mass of the people as some con¬ 
tributed by other countries, and did not draw so many 
admirers. Hence it was often said to people who were 
crowding into other nations, “ Go to the American 
department, and you will have room enough ! ” Besides 
this, the articles sent from this country were, in many 
cases, without their contributors ; and I thought there 
was much less taste in the arrangement, and less art in 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


99 


showing the goods to the best advantage, than was 
exhibited by others. Nor is it any disparagement to 
the United States to say that it cannot vie with Eng¬ 
land and France in mere matters of taste and beauty. 
Our country is young; the articles and fabrics we man¬ 
ufacture are for utility; and we make no pretensions to 
those little and comparatively unimportant attainments 
which, exhibited in a Crystal Palace, of course draw 
more attention than agricultural implements and pieces 
of machinery. 

A few articles in the American department may be 
mentioned not only with commendation, but with a 
feeling of national satisfaction. From Philadelphia 
was contributed a very finely-finished set of harness, 
which equaled, if it did not surpass, any thing of the 
kind in the exhibition. It was said — with how much 
truth I know not — to have cost about three thousand 
dollars, and was admired by all who knew any thing 
about such articles. Several coaches, and light, grace¬ 
ful sleighs drew much attention, and formed a fine con¬ 
trast with some of the heavy, lumberous vehicles from 
other nations. A fire engine was also found in our de¬ 
partment — a charming little thing, which would throw 
seven streams of water upon a fire at once, at an aver¬ 
age hight of one hundred and fifty feet each. The 
finish of the “ tub ” was exquisite, and drew consider¬ 
able observation. A steam engine, on a new principle, 
in which the motive power is applied directly to the 
driving-wheel, without the intervention of cylinders, 
steam chests, or condensers. Several other machines 
are on exhibition in the American department, of 
which we see no reason for our country to be ashamed. 

The display of daguerreotypes from America was 
very far before that of any other nation; and the 


t 


9 


100 


EUROPA. 


triumph of this art in our new world was often men¬ 
tioned. The countenances of our distinguished men 
were mirrored out with great correctness and success, 
and not the least pleasant hour spent in the Crystal 
Palace was that devoted to a glance at the familiar 
faces of the orators, statesmen, and clergymen of our 
republic. 

In the foreground of the picture presented by our 
department was Powers’s 44 Greek Slave,” the most fin¬ 
ished piece of sculpture in the Fair. With this 44 tri¬ 
umph of art ” you are familiar, as it has been exhibited 
in this country, and received the favorable notice of the 
most distinguished artists and men of taste among us. 
This is a copy of the original statue, was taken by 
Powers for an Englishman, and by him placed in the 
American section, as a delicate compliment to the artist 
and the land of his birth. 

Directly in the rear of the Greek Slave is a large 
number of Indian traps, presided over by a full-grown 
chief and his squaw, and near by is Colton’s model of 
the Falls of Niagara. The latter is said to be very 
correct, yet can but fail to give any adequate idea of 
the stupendous work of God. The foam, the roar, the 
mist, the thunder, and the tremble of the earth, cannot 
be represented by a dead model. 

There were also some rather amusing articles on ex¬ 
hibition. A pair of oars, mounted in silver, and in¬ 
closed in a black walnut case, and labeled, 44 A present 
to the Prince of Wales,” was the contribution of a Mr. 
Page, of New York. The heads of some of our distin¬ 
guished men in soap gave rise to a pleasant little inci¬ 
dent, which is said to have occurred on the first visit of 
the queen, who, hardly believing the images were soap, 
was about to try them with a bodkin, but was prevented 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


101 


by the proprietor, who exclaimed, as if in evident hor¬ 
ror, “ No, your majesty ; this is Washington ; ” to which 
Prince Albert replied, “ O, it is Royalty picking at 
Liberty/’ I also saw one day a measure of parched 
corn, for what sent over to London I do not know. 

At the time I was in London, the English people 
were open in their abuse of America. Scarcely a paper 
could be taken up, from the Times to Punch, without 
the eye falling upon some slur at the meager condition 
of the American section in the Crystal Palace. On the 
platform in Exeter Hall, I was compelled to listen to 
the same unjust and prejudiced remarks; and once or 
twice they came out in sermons, on public occasions. 
But, before the close of the exhibition, Brother Jona¬ 
than compelled John Bull to draw in his horns, and 
swallow his own words. Somebody says of Brother 
Jonathan, “The waist of his coat may be ridiculously 
short; the tails of it ridiculously long; his shirt collar 
may absorb the produce of a whole field of flax; his 
pantaloons may not come below the tops of his boots; 
and his straps may have the air of preventer-braces, to 
keep the continuations from going over his head; he 
may be, in short, the most unpresentable man you can 
conceive of, and ‘ most mockable at court; ’ but beneath 
the uncouthness of his dress, and the frequent bizarrerie 
of his manner, there is such a man, and such a soul, as 
only Yankeedom and the nineteenth century can pro¬ 
duce or educate.” 

And so the boasters of the British press have found 
it, and in many a well-contested trial young America 
has secured an advantage. At a fair trial, M’Cormick’s 
Virginia Reaper, which had been derided and made the 
butt of wit, secured an advantage over all other similar 


102 


EUROPA. 


instruments; and in one hour M’Cormick’s fortune was 
made. The English have acknowledged the superior¬ 
ity of his machine over theirs; and he has taken 
the palm under circumstances not most favorable to 
himself. 

We had scarcely recovered from the surprise and 
pleasure which this victory over the prejudices of our 
transatlantic friends gave us, ere one of the journals of 
London which had been most abusive made the follow¬ 
ing concession, in reference to some carpets woven at 
Clinton by Mr. Bigelow: 44 The American department 
has again received an important accession of strength, 
in the shape of some specimens of Brussels carpets, 
woven upon power looms. Although various attempts 
have been made to adapt the power looms to carpet 
weaving in England, there is not, we believe, at this 
moment, any machinery perfected for that object. Our 
American brethren have therefore gained another step 
ahead of us, and have won another laurel on this well- 
contested field of the industrial arts.” 

We were enjoying this when the American clipper, 
under the command of Mr. Stevens, arrived on English 
waters. Taunting challenges were thrown out, which 
were accepted, and the decided superiority of the Amer¬ 
ican over the English clippers shown at the first trial. 

The next news that came informed us that a ma¬ 
chine for the manufacture of bobbins, by which much 
labor and expense were saved, was being exhibited by 
a Scotchman, and receiving universal commendation. 
The machine was examined, and found to be a com¬ 
plete plagiarism, it having been the invention of a 
gentleman of Lowell. This new feather Brother Jon¬ 
athan put in his cap with much pleasure; and the 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 1Q3 

admiration which had been bestowed upon the supposed 
contribution of Scotland ceased quite suddenly. 

But a new triumph awaited Yankeeland. A genius 
with “ a coat having a short waist and long tails ” ap¬ 
peared in London, with a few simple, odd-looking wires, 
and inquired of the policeman on the corner if he knew 
who had any locks to be picked. He was directed to 
the famous Chubbs lock, which in a short time gave 
way before his ingenuity. He next tried the never- 
picked lock of Bramah, and soon that too yielded to 
his skill; and the Yankee marched off with the two 
hundred pounds in his pocket, and England was left 
without a single safe lock to protect her treasures. 
Hobbs’s own Parantoptic Lock was laid before the most 
skillful locksmiths in England, and after having tried to 
pick it, in vain, they have abandoned the attempt. And 
now, while John Bull was wondering what these Yan¬ 
kees would grow to, one of them came forward, and, to 
the complete astonishment of the nation, wished to hire 
the Crystal Palace itself, for a musical concert, and 
offered ten thousand dollars for the use of it one single 
day; but as some one keenly remarks, “John Bull had 
seen enough of the Yankees, with their patent locks, 
reaping machines, and yachts, without desiring to be 
danced out of his own palace to the tune of Yankee 
Doodle.” 

Times have changed, and the papers which, a while 
ago, were heaping abuse, are now talking most fawn- 
ingly, and with a very patronizing air. Punch and the 
Times have as much as they can do to compliment 
America. A while ago, there appeared a little song in 
Punch, which common consent ascribed to Thackeray, 
the author of Pendennis. It is so felicitous that I will 
introduce it, though you have read it before. 


EUROPA. 


Yankee Doodle sent to town 
His goods for exhibition ; 

Every body ran him down, 

And laughed at his position ; 

They thought him all the world behind, 

A goney, muff, or noodle. 

‘Laugh on good people — never mind,’ 

Says quiet Yankee Doodle. 

Yankee Doodle had a craft, 

A rather tidy clipper ; 

And he challenged, while they laughed, 

The Britishers to whip her. 

The whole yacht squadron she outsped, 

And that on their own water ; 

Of all the lot she went ahead, 

And they came nowhere arter. 

O’er Panama there was a scheme 
Long talked of, to pursue a 

Short route — which many thought a dream 
By Lake Nicaragua. 

John Bull discussed the plan on foot 
With slow irresolution, 

While Yankee Doodle went and put 
It into execution. 

A steamer of the Collins line, 

A Yankee Doodle’s notion, 

Has also quickest cut the brine 
Across th’ Atlantic Ocean. 

And British agents, noways slow 
Her merits to discover, 

Have been and bought her—just to tow 
The Cunard packets over. 

Your goldsmiths of their skill may crack. 
But that again don’t mention; 

1 guess that Colt’s revolvers whack 
Their very first invention. 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 105 

By Yankee Doodle, too, you’re beat 
Downright, in agriculture, 

With his machine for reaping wheat, 

Chawed up as by a vulture. 

“ You also fancied, in your pride, 

Which truly is tarnation, 

Them British locks of yourn defied 
The rogues of all creation; 

But Chubbs’ and Bramah’s Hobbs has picked, 

And you must now be viewed all 
As having been completely licked 
By glorious Yankee Doodle.” 

But the exhibition has closed, and the Crystal Palace 
is being dismantled, and the rich store of goods scat¬ 
tered among the nations. On the 11th of October, 
the imposing services were held, and the congregated 
thousands separated, to meet no more on earth. The 
last was a tumultuous day. Cheers were heard, bells 
were tolled, and one of the noblest assemblies ever con¬ 
vened w T as broken up. The nations returned, and the 
streets of London soon began to wear their usual aspect. 

That the exhibition, viewed in almost any light, has 
been successful, none can doubt. The number of per¬ 
sons in attendance, the sums of money received, the 
moral influence upon the nations, all have more than 
equaled the most sanguine expectations. The num¬ 
bers who visited the exhibition during the time it was 
opened were as follows: — 


In May, 

. 734,672 

“ June, 

.1,130,116 

“ July, 

.1,314,176 

“ August, 

.1,023,435 

“ September, 

. 1,155,240 

“ October, . 

.841,107 

14 

Total, . . 6,198,746 



106 


EUROPA. 


The largest number in the Palace, at any one time, 
was ninety-two thousand. What seems very singular 
is, that only twenty-five commitments have been made 
by the police, and all of them were for minor offences. 
I think no parallel can be found, in the history of the 
world, in which so large a number of persons assembled 
with so little confusion and crime. 

I have seen going the rounds a strange little pre¬ 
diction of the poet Chaucer, made years ago, and 
which seems to have been singularly verified in the 
Crystal Palace. In his “ House of Fame,” he is spec¬ 
ulating as to the cause of dreams, informing his readers 
that he cannot tell whether 

“ Spirits have the might 
To make folks dread o’night, 

Or if the soul of proper kind 
Be so perfect as men find 
That it wote what is to come.” 

He goes on to say, — 

“As I slept,. 

.I dreamt I was 

Within a temple made of glass , 

In which there were more images 
Of gold standing in sundry stages, 

In more rich tabernacles, 

And with jeivels more pinnacles, 

And more curious portraitures , 

And quaint manner of figures 
Of gold work, than I saw ever. 

• • • • • 

“ Then saw I stand on either side 
Straight down to the doors wide 
From the dais many a pillar 
Of metal that shone out full clear. 


THE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 


107 


Then ’gan I look about and see 
That there came ent’ring in the hall 
A right great company withal, 

And that of sundry regions 

Of all kinds of conditions 

That dwell in earth beneath the moon, 

Poor and rich. 

• • • • • 

Such a great congregation 
Of folks as I saw roam about, 

Some within and some without, 

Was never seen , nor shall be more ! ” 

The old poet is dead, but his vision has been realized 
in the great exhibition and the Crystal Palace, to which 
we now bid adieu, with a single remark as to its moral 
influence upon the nations of the earth. This influ¬ 
ence cannot fail to be very beneficial. Thousands from 
all nations came together and mingled their congratu¬ 
lations, and the friends of peace, liberty, and religion 
seized the occasion to forward the high purposes of the 
gospel. It is not probable that another such gathering 
will be held for many years; but when it is held, our 
own country will be the place ; for the artists of Europe 
are yet to take lessons in republican enterprise and in¬ 
dustry. We are confident that, in the next exhibition, 
wherever it may be held, the American department will 
be one which will be most attractive to those who value 
real utility. That, in the present instance, we have 
done justice to ourselves, none will admit. Much finer 
displays have been made at some of our county fairs, 
during the present autumn, than was made by our de¬ 
partment in the exhibition in London; and, if another 
opportunity should come, our artists will not be slow 
to vindicate the wounded honor of our nation, or back¬ 
ward in competing for the highest prizes. 


108 


EUROPA. 


To England, as a nation, the exhibition has been a 
source of great pecuniary benefit. Millions of money 
have been carried into the country from abroad, and 
immense purchases of goods have been made in Lon¬ 
don, which would have been secured elsewhere but for 
this great and glorious gathering; and when another 
Crystal Palace is erected in America, may we reap ad¬ 
vantages as great in a commercial and moral view. 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


109 


VII. 

THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


I fear I was led to attend church in Europe more 
by curiosity than devotion. The desire to hear distin¬ 
guished men, to he impressed by their eloquence, did 
not always fit me for communion with God. I confess 
my object was more to see and hear than to have my 
heart made better; and if I cannot bring back to you 
an account of much personal improvement, I will try 
to give some idea of the impression made upon my 
mind by the appearance of the clergymen, and the ser¬ 
vices of their churches. I left home determined not to 
preach at all, but was obliged to abandon this wise 
course, and, on several occasions, consented to deliver 
poor sermons, and thus lost the opportunity of hearing 
as many good ones. 

The service in English churches is much the same as 
in ours. The dissenting ministers, however, as well as 
those of the establishment, have an assistant, or clerk, 
who reads the hymns, and sometimes performs other 
parts of the service. The clerk is generally selected in 
consequence of possessing a good voice, and being a 
pleasant reader. But they all get into a drawling and 
unpleasant habit, reading poetry and prose, grave and 
gay, alike with a “holy tone,*’ or a “sacred twang,” 
which sounds more like the recitations of a schoolboy 
than the voice of one w 7 ho is appointed to lead the de¬ 
votions of the people of God. I found this assistant 

j 


110 


EUROPA. 


to be regarded as a sort of privileged fault-finder — not 
knowing how to preach himself, and yet continually 
trying to teach his minister. 

The singing in the dissenting chapels is congrega¬ 
tional, a deacon, or some other person, standing in 
front of the pulpit, lining out the hymn, and giving 
the pitch. The singing was like Jeremiah’s figs — 
some of it very good, and some very bad. This exercise 
afternoons, and perhaps at other times, in the churches 
of the establishment, is often done by children, the 
boys being attired alike, and the little girls with neat 
white caps and aprons — presenting to the congrega¬ 
tion below a pleasing spectacle, as their infant voices 
are raised in devotion and praise. The afternoon ser¬ 
vice is devoted to the improvement of the poor, and 
those who, by living in the houses of wealthy families, 
are unable to attend in the morning, and is generally 
poorly sustained. 

The sexton in English churches is often a woman, 
who seats the people, waits upon the minister into the 
pulpit, and performs sundry other services, which here 
devolve on the other sex. I was much amused, on one 
occasion, by a woman who seized me by the arm, and 
led me up through the aisle, and gave me a seat be¬ 
neath the pulpit. The more I held back, the harder 
she pulled me forward, until I found it was all in vain, 
and I surrendered at discretion. The first sermon I 
heard in London was preached by 

JOHN CUMMING, D. D., 

the eloquent pastor of the church in Crown Court, 
who is said to be the most popular minister in the 
city. He is connected with the established church of 
Scotland. His chapel — for by this name the meeting- 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


Ill 


houses of all dissenters are called, however spacious 
and elegant they may be — is beneath the shadow of 
Drury Lane Theater, in an avenue not wide enough for 
a carriage passage. The chapel itself is an old and 
uncomely affair, with stained glass windows, dark and 
gloomy, and capable of seating fifteen hundred persons. 
I went on one bright and beautiful Sabbath morning, 
and, having been told that the house was crowded dur¬ 
ing service time, I managed to be there nearly an hour 
before the sermon commenced. The vestibule was full; 
the aisles, into one of which I pressed my way, were 
crowded; but in the pews not a single person could be 
seen. It was an unusual sight, and, on inquiring, I was 
informed that no strangers were seated until after the 
first prayer was offered. One by one the occupants of 
the pews arrived and took their seats, and, long ere the 
hour of service, the house was crowded from the pulpit 
to the porch, and I had the satisfaction of standing dur¬ 
ing the whole time. As I looked around, I saw many 
illustrious and titled men, among whom I recognized 
the countenance of Hon. Abbott Lawrence, who is a 
regular attendant and communicant at the altar. Soon 
a slight movement, and an instant cessation of an in- 
distinct murmur which had been running through the 
assembly, announced the arrival of the preacher. He 
entered by a door in the rear of his church, arrayed 
in robes, and, with a dignified step, ascended the pulpit 
stairs. He is about fifty years of age, tall and graceful 
in his bearing, has a broad and ample forehead, dark 
brows and whiskers, and is altogether what the ladies 
would call a “ very handsome man.” He is a chaste 
and elegant speaker, with a clear, silvery voice, and 
precise, even to what appears to be a slight affectation 
or mannerism. The preliminary services were conducted 


112 


EUROPA. 


with great propriety, the singing by the congregation, 
without the aid of an organ, and the discourse was 
delivered in a fluent, extemporaneous manner. 

The text was the words of God to Cain — 44 Where 
is thy brother 1” The preacher commenced by remark¬ 
ing that the context suggests several great facts, namely: 
that death, in a sudden manner, is not in itself an evil, 
hut often a favor; that the first death was of a good 
man. Had Cain died first, all men would have looked 
upon the event as a terrible punishment, whereas now 
we can regard it in another light; that the first was a 
martyr’s death, indicating that the great contest be¬ 
tween the seed of the woman and of the serpent had 
already commenced; that by death the good are re¬ 
moved from wo here, to joy beyond the grave. 

44 All men,” the speaker went on to say, “ are of one 
brotherhood, on whatever shore, in whatever clime. 
But this bond of brotherhood is not always recognized. 
Should I ask one the question of the text, he would 
reply, 4 What is that to me 1 ’ He would manifest a 
spirit which, if carried out, would break down all our 
asylums and public charities, and destroy society itself. 
Another would reply, 4 My brother is no care of mine; 
for his sufferings are of his own making, or of his par¬ 
ents.’ What of that l Did not Christ come to relieve 
us of sufferings and sorrows which we made for our¬ 
selves ? Another would reply, 4 1 have been deceived 
so many times by my brothers, and helping them has 
been a task so thankless, that I will not relieve him.’ 
But do you do good for thanks 1 The Pharisees did, 
but Christ did not. True charity shuns the public 
gaze — would rather be cheated itself than allow an 
object of pity to go unblest, or without our contri¬ 
bution. 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


113 


“ When I ask the text with reference to thy brother’s 
religion, the reply is, 4 O, that is his business, not mine. 
If he is sincere, all is well enough.’ Did Paul say this 
when he looked upon the idolaters of Athens? Did 
Christ say so when he looked upon the abominations 
of Jerusalem ? Did he say so when he went bending 
to the cross ? ” 

Having asked the question, the preacher proceeded 
to answer it. 44 1. Geographically , thy brother is in 
Africa, in China, in dark lands, in lone and icy moun¬ 
tains, every where. 2. Religiously , thy brother has left 
the temjile of God, and is bowing in the mosk of 
Omar, in the cathedral at Rome, in the temple of Jug¬ 
gernaut. He has given himself up to the worship of 
dumb idols; he lives without God. 3. Physically , thy 
brother is in some vile hovel, or on a sick bed, or in 
a prison. He is in want, is discouraged. Thy brother 
mans our ships, builds our houses, tempers our steel, 
provides our clothing, and tights our battles. Go forth, 
then, man with a heart, and claim thy brotherhood.” 

This discourse was applied to the support of a charity 
school, connected with the doctor’s church. Speaking 
of the poor children composing it, he remarked, 44 The 
only difference between the diamond which adorns Vic¬ 
toria’s crown and that which lies embedded in the earth 
consists in polish: so the children of the rich and poor 
differ only in education.” In illustration of the interest 
which angels on high take in the education of children, 
he said, 44 In our city is a Crystal Palace. Thousands 
will go and admire it, and gaze upon the productions 
of every clime with wonder. But holy angels, as they 
sweep over the city to-day, will stop not at the Crystal 
Palace, but will tarry where children are gathered from 
the streets, and taught to love the Savior.” Again he 

15 J * 


114 


EURORA. 


remarked, “ On one occasion, one hundred thousand 
men were employed to build a pyramidal tomb for a 
dead king: we are decorating the living temples of the 
living God.” The address was wound up by a beauti¬ 
ful incident, beautifully enforced: A Grecian artist was 
once employed to make an elegant statue. He sent for 
all the Hr gins of Greece, and took the most perfect 
feature of each, and blended all into one form of love¬ 
liness ; and when it was completed, each of the maidens 
of that classic land could recognize some feature of 
herself in the work of the artist: so the Christian 
should be able to recognize his own features in the 
reformation of society, and the advancement of light 
and truth. 

I have dwelt thus long upon this discourse, because 
Dr. Gumming is said to be the most eloquent preacher 
in London. The sermon was not profound, and, in 
this country, would be called brilliant rather than elo¬ 
quent. There was nothing startling or great; but it 
consisted of a series of brilliant remarks — a string of 
jewels, glistening all the way along like gems in the 
bracelet of beauty. 

We pass next to the Free Scotch church, in Regent 
Square, where preaches 

JAMES HAMILTON, D. D. 

I went in first to see the church, on an afternoon, 
when no service was held. It is one of the finest 
chapels in London, and was built for Edward Irving, 
who entered the city a stranger, and soon became one 
of the most popular men who ever stood in the sacred 
desk, drawing crowds of admiring, fascinated hear¬ 
ers. Of that remarkable man you have all heard. 
His short, eventful course, which for a time shone with 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


115 


such splendor, and ended in such darkness, has been 
spoken of by all the lovers of eloquence, and bewailed 
by all the friends of Jesus. For a time he was the 
central object of interest, and thousands hung upon his 
lips with admiration. But, intoxicated with fame and 
popularity, he imagined himself inspired, and declared 
that angels were communicating to him the will of 
God. I went into the chapel with my friend Overbury, 
of Eagle Street, and gazed upon the walls which had 
once echoed with the eloquence of that wonderful man, 
whose name was associated in my mind with the high¬ 
est style of eloquence, and with the most blinded 
fanaticism. I went up that spacious aisle, to the 
elegant pulpit, but Irving was not there. He has 
passed away to his reward. And Chalmers, too, who 
loved Irving as a brother, and who dedicated for him 
his chapel, and whose voice had often been heard 
within those walls — he, too, has gone home to heaven. 
My companion told me, that on one occasion he went 
in to hear Irving. An immense number was crowded 
within the walls of that spacious edifice, rapt, fixed, 
lost in the eloquence of the preacher. When the dis¬ 
course was about half finished, a woman near the 
pulpit began to make a guttural noise, which she sup¬ 
posed was speaking in an unknown tongue, afterwards 
interpreting by saying, “ The Lord is coming, the Lord 
is coming.” Irving paused, and addefl, “Yes, he is 
coming; ” and, bowing his head upon the cushion of the 
pulpit, seemed overcome with emotion. “ On another 
occasion,” said my friend, “ scores were heard making 
those hideous noises, or speaking in an unknown 
tongue, as they called it; and the whole house echoed 
with the sounds.” Poor Irving ! the most eloquent 
and the most unfortunate preacher of his times ! 


116 


EUROPA. 


But we return to Hamilton, who now fills his place, 
or rather occupies it, for it is no discredit to his suc¬ 
cessor to say, that no one can Jill the place of Edward 
Irving. All remember that notable year of our Lord, 
when the Free Scotch church was formed. The old 
Scotch Covenanter spirit had long been curbed and 
chafed under the irreligious and oppressive enactments 
of the establishments, and, in 184f3, about four hundred 
ministers of that order uttered a noble protest, and, 
headed by Welcli and Chalmers, laid down their livings 
and honors, and declared themselves independent of the 
state. Old St. Giles never witnessed a nobler sight, 
than when, on that day, those sainted men abandoned 
the protection of government, and fled to the throne of 
God. Of these was James Hamilton, who is now one 
of the most efficient men of the Free church. The 
discourse which I heard from his lips was upon “ over¬ 
coming faith ; ” and nobly was it preached, with all the 
spirit of a man who had himself exercised it, and felt 
its power. Dr. Hamilton has a very happy faculty of 
illustrating, and pours out his well-chosen and perti¬ 
nent figures with the greatest abundance. He has a 
somewhat broad Scotch pronunciation, which would be 
offensive to sensitive ears ; but when aroused, pronun¬ 
ciation and accent are alike forgotten by the hearer, 
who is borne along irresistibly, absorbed in the dazzling 
radiance which the eloquence of the speaker draws 
around him. His church is always full, and not sel¬ 
dom do multitudes go away unable to find places to sit 
or stand. 

We leave llegent Square, and find our way to the 
Strand, and, as it is Sabbath evening, enter Exeter Hall, 
where morning and evening a service is held, each 
Lord’s day, during the time of the great exhibition, for 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


117 


strangers. The clergymen of the city officiate alter¬ 
nately, and the hall is always filled to its utmost ca¬ 
pacity. As we crowd our way in, the whole assembly 
of nearly five thousand persons are singing,— 

“ So did the Hebrew prophet raise 
The brazen serpent high ; 

The wounded felt immediate ease, 

The camp forbore to die.” 

The hymn closes, and a large, heavy man, with a 
full, florid face, and a strong, deep voice, commences 
his discourse. He is 

REV. WILLIAM BROCK, 

of Bloomsbury Chapel, said to be the most effective 
Baptist minister in London. His chapel is large, and 
in its construction and adornment superior to any of 
the same order in the city; and his congregation is com¬ 
posed chiefly of young, stirring, energetic men. His 
discourse on this occasion is founded on the narrative 
of the prodigal son, and he goes into it with a right 
good will, setting all the rules of rhetoric, and correct 
speaking and pronunciation, at defiance. His discourse 
is a good one, cutting down into the consciences of the 
wicked and abandoned, and reaching a class of hearts 
which would slumber under all the refined, delicate 
sentences of Gumming and Noel, and be unaffected by 
all the nice and chastely-formed essays which could be 
read in Exeter Hall from the year of grace 1851 to 
the day of doom. His eloquence is of that rude, un¬ 
cultivated sort which tramples upon all laws, and 
carries conviction to the masses by its impulsive and 
overwhelming energy. Mr. Brock is a fine platform 
speaker, and is always welcomed in Exeter Hall with 


118 


EUROPA. 


rapturous applause. He has none of the sweet, gentle 
persuasive of Mr. Noel, nor the brilliant, flashing 
genius of Dr. Cumming, nor the elegant imagery of 
the successor of Irving, hut a rough, honest enthusi¬ 
asm, which enables the hearer to endure the constant 
departures from the principles of correct speaking. In 
the notes which I took of the sermon in Exeter Hall, 
I find a constant repetition of the words “ wern’t,” and 
“ arn’t,” “ teacher,” and “ father.” Speaking of what 
the prodigal did, he said, “ That is the sinner all over ; ” 
describing his return to his father’s house, he said, 
“ He went afoot and alone,” which phrase only needed 
the addition of “ as the girl went to be married,” to 
make it appear entirely ridiculous. But while the 
hearer cannot but notice these blemishes, he does not 
feel a disposition to dwell upon them, for in Mr. Brock 
he sees an ambassador of God who has a great message 
to deliver, and who is faithful to his holy calling, con¬ 
cealing no truth, and covering up no sin. 

On the next evening, we go to Exeter Hall again, to 
attend a great gathering which is there to be held. 
Just as we enter, a short, plain, uncomely-looking man 
rises to speak. He begins slowly, and seems laboring 
to find utterance for the great thoughts which are 
struggling in his mind. We are almost disposed to 
leave the hall, so unpromising does the speaker appear. 
But soon some thoughts arrest the attention: we will 
stay a little longer. Now we are interested, for we see 
a fire flashing in the eye of the speaker. More elo¬ 
quent he becomes every moment, and more irresistible 
his enthusiasm. His voice is not pleasant; his only 
gesture, that of bringing his right hand down with 
terrible fury upon the rail before him, is awkward and 
uncomely. But we are all-absorbed in the impetuous 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


119 


torrent of living thoughts and burning words that 
come pouring out upon us. At every sentence the 
speaker becomes more earnest and more eloquent. The 
perspiration streams down his face, and in his vehe¬ 
mence he has thrown the thin hair down over his broad 
forehead, until it almost conceals his eyes. And yet, 
on he goes, until the climax is reached, and he sits 
down with a sort of defiant look, as if he had said, 
“ Beat this who can.” ITe is 

REV. JOSEPH BEAUMONT, 

« 

the talented, manly, eloquent leader of the English 
Wesley ans. 

A hymn is sung, which comes swelling out from 
nearly five thousand voices, and another speaker is 
announced. Unlike the one whom he succeeds, he is 
a tall, broad-chested man, whose gestures and words 
are solemn as the grave. We see no vehemence, no 
beating of the rail, no jumping from side to side, no 
contortions of countenance, but a calm, deliberate flow 
of profound thoughts, expressed with clearness, and 
attended with power. We are listening to 

REV. THOMAS BINNEY, 

the eloquent minister of the Independent or Congre¬ 
gational church in Monument Square. A few years 
since, this distinguished man came to our country, to 
which visit we heard him refer once or twice in public. 
But while here he did not seem to possess any extraor¬ 
dinary attraction, and the minister who in England 
could gather around him an immense and admiring 
audience, in Boston failed to fill the house of worship 
in which he preached. Whatever might have been 
the cause of this, and whether it is to the discredit of 


120 


EUROPA. 


the minister or the people, certain is it, that eloquence 
is measured by a different gauge in the two countries. 
Mr. Binney takes his seat amid the cheers of the peo¬ 
ple, and 

REY. GEORGE SMITH, 

of Poplar, takes the stand, and enters at once into an 
impulsive and earnest speech, which wins for him the 
golden opinions of the audience. He is less command¬ 
ing in personal appearance than Mr. Binney, less 
vehement than Mr. Beaumont,, less ornate than Hr. 
Gumming. But few men surpass him in platform 
oratory. Ilis words are well chosen, and his thoughts 
pour out, giving us the measure of a great soul. I 
admired a speech I heard him make so much, that I 
walked one evening six miles to hear him preach, but, 
on arriving at his place of worship, found the desk 
occupied by a young man, who was amusing himself, 
trifling with his audience, and insulting his Maker, by 
a profoundly silly speech upon the origin of sin, and 
the fall of the rebel angels, about which he evidently 
knew as little as his audience. 

Leaving Exeter Hall, we find our way to Surrey 
Chapel, a place famous in the religious history of Lon¬ 
don. In the pulpit is an old man, his head white with 
age, who is preaching a discourse in behalf of the Lon¬ 
don Missionary Society — a formidable organization, 
whose annual income is more than sixty-eight thou- 
sand pounds. The preacher is not a city minister, but 
as we chanced to hear him there, and as his name and 
works are known and read in this country, I cannot 
forbear to mention the honorable name of 

REV. WILLIAM JAY, 

whose “ Morning and Evening Exercises ” have assisted 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


121 


so many Christians in the devotions of the family circle. 
I was less disappointed in Mr. Jay than in any other 
distinguished preacher I heard. His sermon on this 
occasion was a rich, deep, and full presentation of a 
glorious gospel. A vein of pious experience was run¬ 
ning through it, like a thread of light; and as he stood 
before me in the solemn vestures of the house of God, 
and presented the message of my Master, I thought he 
realized more fully my idea of an English preacher 
than any other man I had heard in the kingdom. 
Whoever reads the works of Mr. Jay will have a por¬ 
trait of the man, the measure of his mind, and the 
fervency of his piety. Three others I will mention, and 
then relieve your patience. The first is 

HON. AND REV. BAPTIST W. NOEL. 

The past history of this distinguished man is some¬ 
what known in this country. ITis father, Sir Girard 
Noel, w T as a naval officer of some distinction, and his 
mother a peeress of the realm. His oldest brother is 
the Earl of Gainsboro’, and all his relatives are of no¬ 
ble birth or office. For a long time, Mr. Noel was 
minister of St. John’s Church, Bedford Bow, where he 
drew admiring crowds of hearers. The rich and poor 
came together to be pleased and benefited by his 
simple instructions. For many years, he has been re¬ 
garded as a man of very liberal views and feelings, and 
on various occasions has incurred the reproofs of his 
superiors in office (he has no superior in true nobility 
of nature) for his resistance to their invasions upon the 
rights of the people. A few years since he became 
convinced that a union of church and state could not 
be justified on gospel principles, and, to the astonish¬ 
ment of his former ecclesiastical associates, announced 

16 k 


122 


EUROPA. 


his intention of leaving the church of England. The 
tidings spread through the great city, carrying conster¬ 
nation to the supporters of a state church, and joy to 
the hearts of the dissenters. What denomination he 
would join became a matter of some solicitude; but all 
doubt was soon removed by his baptism in the old 
chapel once owned and occupied by the sainted Evans. 
Removing from his former more elegant and commo¬ 
dious place of worship, he entered the chapel wherein 
he was immersed, and at once drew around him an 
affectionate and wealthy congregation. In this chapel, 
which is about as large as our own house of worship, 
I heard him preach. His discourse was on the fidelity 
of Caleb, recorded in the Book of Numbers. With 
great clearness and simplicity, the preacher contrasted 
the conduct of Caleb with that of his friends, and in 
a very pleasing manner pointed out the rewards of the 
faithful Christian. He did not allude to himself, yet 
no one could fail to see in Mr. Noel a living exhibition 
of the spirit exhibited by Caleb. Amid the reproaches 
of his friends, and the astonishment of the whole na¬ 
tion, he had left a wealthy and influential body, which 
lived under the protection of the greatest kingdom on 
earth, and united with an unhonored and despised body, 
and meekly bore the reproaches of them who said, 
“ Thou art beside thyself; much learning hath made 
thee mad.” 

I was disappointed in Mr. Noel’s style of pulpit 
address. I expected to hear something which would 
electrify the audience, and come up to a high idea 
which I had received from a friend, who, with enthusi¬ 
astic admiration, described Mr. Noel as the “ greatest 
preacher in the kingdom.” The discourse under men¬ 
tion was preached in a quiet and unostentatious style, 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


123 


without notes, and in a sweet and gentle tone of voice. 
There were no sublime flights, no passages of overpow¬ 
ering eloquence, no outbursts of enthusiasm, but a 
clear, ingenuous flow of holy thoughts, which, like a 
gentle stream rippling on ever, gilded by the silvery 
rays of the moon, made the hearer forget the lapse of 
time, and sit with delight, until the close. I think 
I never listened to so long a sermon with so little wea¬ 
riness, or went away from the sanctuary with a greater 
desire to come again. 

The personal appearance of Mr. Noel is prepossessing. 
His forehead is high and broad; his hair is brown, and 
carefully adjusted, yet without unnecessary precision ; 
and his whole countenance bears the marks of a sweet, 
gentle serenity. I have seen more beautiful features; 
but I never saw a countenance in which love and purity, 
meekness and grace, were more evident. 

* The impression which I formed of this much-loved 
man was confirmed by a visit which I afterwards made 
to his fine residence at Hornsey, about six miles from 
his chapel in John Street. The meekness and sweet¬ 
ness of disposition which are so noticeable in the pulpit 
become more evident as he converses in his own dwell¬ 
ing. His visitors are at once at ease by the dignified 
familiarity with which he receives them, and the readi¬ 
ness with which he enters into their views and projects. 
I saw but few men in England whose courtesy and 
kindness made a deeper impression upon my mind 
than that of the gifted nobleman who stands so de¬ 
servedly at the head of the Baptist clergymen of 
London. 

There is another name which will be mentioned to 
every person in London who inquires for the most dis¬ 
tinguished preacher. I refer to that of 


124 


EUROPA. 


REV. DR. MELVILLE, 

who, every Tuesday morning, delivers what is called 
the “ golden lecture,” in St. Margaret’s Church, Loth- 
bury. The fame of this distinguished man, who, like 
Mr. Noel, is a nobleman, has gone abroad. His works 
are read extensively in this country, and are much ad¬ 
mired ; and many a poor clergyman has sharpened his 
own dull sword on the sides of the pyramids of thought 
which Melville has erected, and lighted his own lamp 
at tires which were kindled in Camberwell. 

So, one morning, I went in with a large number of 
friends to hear the “ golden lecture,” as this is known to 
be one of the choicest efforts of the preacher. Loth- 
bury Church is an uncomely structure, displaying little 
architectural taste. It will contain about fifteen hun¬ 
dred persons, and is generally well filled at this lecture. 
On entering, a woman came forward, and, with a bun¬ 
dle of keys, unlocked a pew door, and thrust us in; 
and for half an hour we amused ourselves with looking 
at the church and its adornments. Behind the chancel 
are two paintings of Moses and Aaron, which I at first 
mistook for Jack the Giant-killer and his wife Hepze- 
bah. On the walls, all around, are marble slabs, bear¬ 
ing inscriptions in praise of the dead, most of them, 
doubtless, more beautiful than true. One of them, 
after describing the virtues of the dead, closed by this 
remark: “ who, having the wisdom to know when he 
had enough, was also endowed with the virtue to enjoy 
it.” While we were looking around the house, — for 
we sat in a pew where we could see most of the congre¬ 
gation,—an aged man marched pompously up the aisle, 
entered the reading-desk, and commenced reading the 
service with such a tone, and such a look, and such a 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 125 

drawl, that the most patient man could hardly have 
endured it. He continued, for about half an hour, to 
murder the beautiful prayers and the more sublime 
scriptures which are set apart for the morning service 
of the English church. This done, a woman is seen 
passing along the aisle, putting one aside this way, and 
another the other way, followed quietly by a man of 
about fifty-five years of age, whom we recognized at 
once as Mr. Melville. He is escorted to the pulpit by 
the woman, who shuts him in; his head bows on the 
cushion until the hymn is done, when he rises and offers 
a short extempore prayer, and enters upon his discourse. 
His hair is slightly gray; his eye keen, and piercing 
black; his form robust and manly; and his counte¬ 
nance regular, and full of fire. I should not call him a 
graceful speaker. His gestures are few, and his words 
are jerked out in a somewhat unpleasant manner. He 
is confined closely to his notes, which evidently are 
prepared with great care. 

The first time I listened to him, he was endeavoring 
to show that all the members of the church are of a 
royal line, and are priests to God. The death of Christ 
brings all men into a position where they may assume 
this priestly office. The church is composed not of a 
bench of bishops, but of all who, by the baptism of 
infancy, have been brought into it. The minister is a 
priest unto the church; the Christian is a priest unto 
the world. The dividing line between the church and 
the world was made by baptism. If I understand 
aright, the doctrine of baptismal regeneration was 
taught, and some of the most objectionable features 
of high churchism defended. The discourse, as a 
whole, was of much power. It was impressed by all 
the evidences of a great mind. Thoughts, in massive 

k * 


126 


EUROPA. 


blocks, were laid down, and a superstructure raised 
which could not be easily demolished. While I could 
not consider the sentiments advanced as scriptural, I 
could admire the logic, and be charmed by the finished 
eloquence. A high churchman would call such a dis¬ 
course “ a mighty effort.” 

I listened to Mr. Melville again, on another occa¬ 
sion, as he was discoursing upon another theme, when 
my previous impressions were confirmed, and I saw 
pervading every sentence of his discourse that rich, 
evangelical vein of thought which runs through so 
many of his published discourses, and which has given 
him so much fame on both sides of the ocean. 

We must hurry now to a new scene. It is Sabbath 
morning, and we find ourselves in front of St. George’s 
Cathedral, where we are to see and hear 

CARDINAL WISEMAN. 

We pay our tribute at the door, and pass into the 
gloomy-looking edifice, and find the service already 
commenced. Robed priests and ignorant people are 
chanting songs which carry us at once back to the mid¬ 
dle ages, and set us down amid the mummeries of olden 
times. The very music seems to squeak and groan; 
the walls seem to echo back sad sounds; and every 
line of the service tells of martyrdom. But as this 
may be all the effect of imagination, we let it pass. 

After chanting and praying, getting up and sitting 
down, bowing and standing, kneeling and sitting, burn¬ 
ing incense and sprinkling water, the cardinal mounts 
into the pulpit, and commences a discourse upon the 
66 Mission of Immanuel.” The personal appearance of 
the prelate is coarse, and his speech, on this occasion, 
was weak and inefficient. His hair is changing to 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


127 


gray; his forehead is low; his cheeks full and red. 
Cunning is stamped upon every line of his counte¬ 
nance ; and I think any one who is accustomed to study 
the expressions of the human face would mark our 
subject as a man of duplicity and fraud. I saw no 
public man in England who possessed such a repulsive 
exterior, in whose features there was such an exhibition 
of gross and sensual passion. 

One day, while walking along the streets of London, 
I saw a caricature of the cardinal. He was represented 
as holding a mask before his face, the mask bearing 
the features of the adorable Savior. From behind the 
mask the cardinal was looking out, as if he had just 
lifted the covering. His own gross and cunning look 
contrasted painfully with the mild, benevolent, saint¬ 
like look of Jesus, whose character has been stolen by 
the prelate to cover up his own wicked and daring 
schemes. 

* Nor does the face of Mr. Wiseman belie his charac¬ 
ter. He is what he looks to be, and has become an 
object of contempt to the whole English nation. Hr. 
Cumming, of Crown Court, related to me an incident 
which will give an illustration of the general character 
of this leading ecclesiastical of the Catholic church in 
England. The doctor had stated publicly that Pius IX. 
and Cardinal Wiseman, according to the laws of their 
church, had taken an oath to persecute heretics to,the 
best of their ability. Hr. Hoyle, the suffragan Bishop 
of Westminster, denied the fact as far as it related to 
the cardinal, and declared, in the name of his superior, 
that he took no such oath. This denial was sent to 
several newspapers of the metropolis, and Hr. Cum¬ 
ming stood charged with slander. To relieve himself, 
he obtained, as far as possible, every edition of the 


128 


EUROrA. 


Pontifical; and in all of them the persecuting clause was 
found, and he wrote to the papers which had published 
Doyle’s denial to this effect. Soon after, he received a 
line from the secretary of Cardinal Wiseman, stating 
that, by the special indulgence of his holiness the pope, 
this objectionable article had been left out in the case 
of bishops who were subjects of the English crown, 
and that Dr. Gumming might examine the Pontifical 
for himself. Taking with him two friends, Dr. Cum- 
ming proceeded on his errand, very glad to be able to 
satisfy his own doubts, and to atone, if he had done 
the cardinal an unintentional wrong. The remainder 
of the story I will tell in his own words. 

“ On our arrival at the cardinal’s house, a page came 
to the door. I asked, ‘Is the cardinal at homer ‘No, 
sir,’ he said; ‘ his eminence left town on Saturday.’ I 
said, ‘ I am very sorry for it; for I appointed to meet 
him to-day to inspect a book.’ The lad said he sup¬ 
posed the secretary could answer me. We then sent in 
our cards; and the secretary very courteously received 
us, and showed us into a large room, over the mantel 
shelf of which there w r as a splendid ivory crucifix and 
some illuminated texts. I told the secretary our errand, 
and he said he perfectly understood it. He then brought 
to us a truly magnificent Pontifical, the most beautiful 
one I ever saw, with richly-illuminated engravings. He 
opened the book, and showed us a blank leaf, on which 
the oath was written, having the persecuting clause left 
out. I said, ‘In this country, when an alteration is 
made in a will, or in a lease, there are always initials 
attached to that alteration. I am much obliged to you 
for showing it to me, but this does not seem to have 
any authority beyond the fact of its being written on 
his eminence’s Pontifical.’ I then turned to the oath 


THE MINIS TEES OF LONDON. 129 

taken by a bishop, (my charge, be it remembered, had 
reference to archbishops,) and there I found that a pen 
had been carefully drawn across the persecuting clause, 
but leaving it legible enough. 4 By whom was this 
done ? ’ I asked. 4 1 do not know, sir,’ he replied. 
4 On what authority was it done V 4 1 have no instruc¬ 
tions.’ The ink, I may mention, was jet black. There 
were no initials. It was argued, by a defendant of the 
cardinal, that the ink was applied thirty years ago. If 
it was so, the inkmaker ought to be canonized. This 
miracle beats any of Liguori’s. Every paper of mine 
that has been covered with ink ten years has turned red 
and rusty, owing to the action of the acid in the atmos¬ 
phere ; but this wonderful ink has stood thirty years 
unscathed, and become blacker the older it grows! 
This, I said, was one of the most wonderful miracles 
the church of Home could produce; that, thirty years 
ago, before Morel or Walkden were born, there was ink 
made so splendid, that it defied wind and weather, acid 
and alkali, and was as black on the day I go to see it 
as it ever was before. So far, so wonderful. But I was 
anxious to make my charge good, and I turned to the 
service for an archbishop receiving the 'pallium — an 
archiepiscopal cloak, woven, as I have already shown, 
from the wool of certain sheep, presented once a year 
by the nuns of St. Agnes. The sheep are ceremoni¬ 
ously set apart, and ceremoniously shorn; and the wool 
is worked into a pallium , which is given to a bishop 
when he is made an archbishop. The receiver cannot 
transfer it to another; he must be buried in it when he 
dies. This pallium is said, in the Pontifical, to possess 
the 4 full pontifical virtue.’ Tractarians say that their 
apostolical succession is transmitted from link to link, 
like the electric fluid along the wires of a telegraph ; 

17 , 


130 


EUliOPA. 


but they have a far quicker way of doing the business 
at Rome. When the pallium is put on the shoulder, 
the sacred virtue penetrates every pore, till the archie- 
piscopal wearer is within an inch of explosion with 
pontifical virtue. I looked at the oath taken by the 
archbishop on receiving this pallium , and, to my utter 
astonishment, and that of Admiral Harcourt also, who 
could scarcely believe his senses, I read in it the very 
clause — 4 Hereticos , schismaticos , et rebelles , Domino 
nostro , vel successoribus prcedictis , pro posse , persequar 
et impugnaboj unaltered and untouched. I then said 
to the secretary, 4 This is just what I alleged. I said 
that the archbishop, on taking the pallium , swears to 
persecute and attack us heretics. You have shown me 
the service, and here stands the very clause. Dr. Wise¬ 
man’s own Pontifical confirms all. How do you explain 
this 1 ’ He turned very pale, and bowed out of the 
room, saying, 4 1 am not a priest, sir; I am not a priest.’ 
I copied the clause out carefully. I have often set my 
wits to work to ascertain how this sad retention of the 
clause in one service had happened.” 

I asked Dr. Cumming if he did not, while thus ex¬ 
posing the artifices of the church of Rome, fear -per¬ 
sonal injury from some of the satellites of the pope. 
44 O, no,” said he; 44 there are here so many Catholics 
of standing and character, who would not like to be 
connected with violence and murder, that they would 
frown down any attempt to injure a Protestant. They 
would lose their character by such an attempt. In 
your country it is different, as the Catholics occupy a 
very different position.” 

Would time and space admit, I might dwell longer 
upon the frauds and duplicity of Cardinal Wiseman, 
the head of the Catholic church in the dominions of 


THE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 


131 


the queen. I would also love to dwell upon many 
pleasant interviews with Bev. Messrs. Stovel and Over¬ 
bury, with whom I formed a pleasant acquaintance, 
and whose kindness I have occasion to remember. I 
might also give some rapid portraits of Dr. Croly, the 
author of Salathiel, and the Angel of the World, 
who is now in the decline of life; of Montgomery, the 
poet, whose works have been so mercilessly handled by 
Macaulay ; of William Chalmers, who bears the name, 
and inherits much of the greatness, of his departed 
relative; of the many distinguished ministers of 
Jesus, whose voices I heard in eloquent pleadings in 
their own pulpits, or in Exeter Hall, the great theater 
of moral and benevolent controversy. As much as I 
admired many of the clergymen of London, I do not 
think they are superior in oratory to our own ministers. 
Many of the most eloquent men in London would be 
considered dull here, and some who have large crowds 
attending upon their preaching would hardly draw con¬ 
gregations in Boston and New York. They use more 
words, and their discourses are far less compact and 
nicely finished, than our own preachers. And yet I 
should judge them to be, on the whole, more efficient 
men, doing more good than men of like eminence in 
our own country. They enter into the great measures 
of the day, the reforms of the age, with more zeal than 
our ministers, and many of them shine more on the 
platform than in the pulpit. But for eloquence, finish, 
and mental power, I do not think they excel, and of 
all the men I heard, but one or two would be likely to 
draw large congregations in New England. In this 
general estimate of the ministers of London, I think 
my traveling companions concurred. 


132 


EUROPA. 


VIII. 

BUNHILL FIELDS. 

We have seen the living ministers of this great 
metropolis; we have visited their churches ; we have 
heard their voices, and it is fitting that we should now 
direct our steps to a spot where reposes some of Eng¬ 
land’s most precious dust, in humble and venerated 
charnels. Every body has heard of Bunhill Fields, 
where so many of the old Nonconformist ministers are 
interred. It was on one dull, melancholy day, when 
such clouds as are never seen any where else but in 
London were resting like a pall all around, that I 
directed my steps towards this hallowed spot. I con¬ 
fess to no superstitious reverence for stones and blocks 
of marble, be they found in old ruined abbeys, cold, 
stately cathedrals, or time-honored cemeteries; but as 
I entered Bunhill Fields, I could not divest myself of 
the idea that sainted forms were hovering round, and 
instinctively the tread became lighter, and the conver¬ 
sation less gay, as one name after another was studied 
out upon time-defaced marble. One of the first graves 
over which I paused was that of Mrs. Susannah 
Wesley, the mother of John and Charles. She was the 
wife of Rev. Samuel Wesley, and the daughter of a 
clergyman. A plain slab marks the spot where she 
lies, and by it we are informed that she was the mother 

of nineteen children, several of whom became eminent 

« 

men in their times. The name of the mother of John 








BUNHILL FIELDS. 


133 


Wesley deserves to be remembered. It is worthy of a 
higher place in the esteem of men than that of Queen 
Elizabeth, or any of the proud dames who thronged 
her court, and enjoyed her bounties. 

At a little distance is the grave of John Bunyan, 
whose name will never die. The stone which covers 
him is large and uncomely; the inscription is nearly 
effaced, and the whole bears the marks of neglect and 
time. What Christian would visit London without 
shedding a tear over the grave of Bunyan 1 It must 
be some one whose heart has not been made glad by 
the perusal of that delightful allegory, penned by him 
in the shades of a gloomy prison. That grave is one 
of the most sacred pilgrim spots which I visited during 
my absence from home. Bunyan has crossed the River 
of Death, and been admitted into the Celestial City, 
and his grave is with us unto this day. 

Near by rest the ashes of Dr. Isaac Watts, the sweet 
singer of Israel: his mission of minstrelsy has ceased. 
On a large, square stone we see his name and age; and 
a simple inscription which he ordered to be put there, 
and which can hardly be read without tears — “ In 
uno Jesn omnia 

Not far away, we find the remains of Dr. John Gill, 
the able expounder of a strong Calvinist theology, and 
near by him Dr. John Owen, whose name we love, and 
whose works are read by many a fireside. In other 
parts of this burial field are the ashes of noble men 
who lived for God, and of whom the world was not 
worthy, and on whose simple gravestones may be read 
the names of Richard Price, George Burder, Nathaniel 
Mather, and a multitude of others who endeared them¬ 
selves to a grateful church by their holy lives and self- 
denying labors. 

L 


134 


EUROPA. 


When we had wandered about a while in this loved 
retreat, we crossed over to the chapel built by John 
Wesley. It is a very fine structure, and in its day 
must have been deemed elegant. Its walls once echoed 
with salvation proclaimed by lips which have now 
crumbled away to dust. There the father of Method¬ 
ism held forth upon themes which astonished angels, 
and there to him listened such audiences as are now 
seldom gathered by his successors. 

In the graveyard in the rear of the chapel are the 
remains of Wesley, and over them rises a neat stone 
monument; and at a little distance is the grave of 
Charles Wesley. The next tomb is that of Dr. Adam 
Clarke, the commentator. The mark of this is a square 
stone, with his name and date of his death upon it, 
also an engraved candle, with a motto, which, as near 
as I remember, signifies, “ I am consumed away for 
another.” Speaking of Adam Clarke, reminds me of an 
amusing incident. Some years ago, a class of students, 
in the divinity college in Andover, were reciting to a 
well-known and much-beloved instructor, when one of 
the students was led by some remark to ask the pro¬ 
fessor what he thought of the theory of Dr. Clarke, 
namely, that Satan appeared to our first parents in 
the form of an ape or monkey. The professor immedi¬ 
ately replied, with a look for which he is peculiar, 
“ Be careful, young man, that Adam Clarke’s monkey 
don’t catch you.” 

Here also lies the body of Rev. Richard Watson, a 
name favorably known among Methodists of all lands, 
and all around are the remains of many of the in¬ 
fluential clergy of the Wesleyan connection. Their 
labors are finished, and here, in a spot where, doubt¬ 
less, they would most wish to sleep, their ashes 


BUNHILL FIELDS. 


135 


await the voice of God and the trump of the arch¬ 
angel. 

As we passed out of the yard, a chamber near by 
was pointed out as the one in which John Wesley died 
— a spot hallowed by receiving the last breath of the 
dying man. 

The Christian will love also to visit the old taberna¬ 
cle of Whitefield, which he built, and where he preached 
to the immense crowds who loved to listen to his voice, 
and were moved by his exhortation. It is an unassum¬ 
ing edifice, and proves Whitefield to have been possessed 
of no great taste in architectural matters. It does not 
compare with the more elegant house of Wesley. Its 
value arises from its connection with that most wonder¬ 
ful man, whose labors were given to two continents; 
whose birthplace was in England; and whose bones 
are now crumbling in the vaults of one of the churches 
of America. 

As I visited Bunhill Fields, and those old chapels, I 
could but remember the fate of all men ; and my mind 
turned to the time when Gumming, Noel, Melville, and 
others will have descended to the grave, and, like Ir¬ 
ving, Wesley, Chalmers, and Whitefield, will repose in 
the cold, wet tomb. The living ministers of Jesus are 
going down to rest with those whose ashes moulder in 
the shades. On this side of the water, death is doing 
its work, and the ministry is losing its brightest orna¬ 
ments. But the same overruling Providence which has 
taken away will give anew; the sacramental hosts will 
remain strong and flourishing; and on the walls of 
Zion will still continue to stand the living herald of 
the great salvation. 


136 


EUROPA. 


IX. 

ROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. 

English society exists in wide extremes — on one 
side, towering wealth, pride, and fashion; on the other, 
degradation and wretchedness. There is no place in 
the world where a man may live in the midst of so 
many gay, fashionable influences, provided he has 
money, as in London; and there is no place where he 
may suffer more, or feel more lonely, if fortune has 
forsaken him, than in that same city. While there, I 
saw a little of both ends of life, and think I can say 
more truly now than ever, with an ancient Hebrew, 
“ Give me neither poverty nor riches; ” for in my heart 
I would rush as soon from the position occupied by 
many of the nobles of that great kingdom, as from the 
poverty of the poor, uneducated, but honest yeomanry 
of the poorer districts. 

On the throne of England now sits a queen who is a 
favorite to an unusual extent. Wherever I went, I 
found the people enthusiastic in her praises. I scarcely 
heard a sermon, prayer, or public speech in which the 
name of Victoria did not find a place; and I was some¬ 
what amused to And how soon an American, with a 
decided contempt for royalty, and who holds the baby 
play of kings and queens in derision, can fall into the 
habit of crying, “ God save the queen ! ” 

The first time I saw her majesty was one day in the 
great exhibition, when, with Prince Albert and several 


ROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. 


137 


of her friends, she came in to lend her presence to the 
occasion. As I was passing along, admiring the objects 
of interest, a hurried whisper — “ The queen is com¬ 
ing”— called my attention; and, the crowd falling 
back, I saw advancing her majesty, leaning upon the 
arm of Prince Frederic William of Prussia. Prince 
Albert was escorting the Princess Louisa of Prussia, 
and behind them followed several gentlemen and ladies 
of the court. A description of the queen is somewhat 
difficult, inasmuch as she looked so much like other 
ladies, that it was hard to distinguish her from those 
who attended her. She breathed the air, walked upon 
the ground, and, for aught I know, was human, like 
those who gazed on in such admiration. It may be 
interesting to the ladies to know something of her 
dress, which was as plain as one half of those worn 
that day in the Crystal Palace, and less gaudy than 
some I saw last Sabbath in the streets of our own city. 
Her dress was a green changeable silk. Over her 
shoulders was carelessly thrown a black 64 Jenny Lind,” 
which now and then would fall, leaving her neck cov¬ 
ered by a collar of plain-worked lace, fastened with a 
single brilliant. On her head was an orange-colored 
silk bonnet, with a few blue flowers and a simple rib- 
in inside. She is a small, delicately-formed woman, 
plain, but prepossessing, with but little to distinguish 
her as the queen of this powerful nation. Prince Al¬ 
bert is a fine-looking man, and is very much respected 
and beloved by the people. I afterwards saw them, on 
various occasions, in the exhibition, and riding out with 
their children. On almost every fine day in summer, 
a plain carriage, with a single outrider, may be seen 
driving through Hyde Park, and in it Albert, Prince of 
Wales, Prince Alfred, the Princess Poyal, and Princess 

18 L* 


138 


EUROPA. 


Alice; for by these imposing titles are these children 
called. I also saw, on one or two occasions, the Duch¬ 
ess of Kent, and other persons connected with the royal 
family. Kings and queens may become familiarized to 
their mode of life, and learn to love it, but in what 
way I do not see. What peace or domestic enjoyment 
Victoria can have, it is hard to tell. Every particular 
relating to her movements is mentioned in the public 
journals. Who dines with her, who dances with her, 
to whom she speaks, when she sits, what she wears, 
and where she goes, are all matters which are recorded r 
every morning with all the certainty of the appearance 
of the Times. The most minute particulars, the little 
affairs of table talk, are all paraded before the public. 
Her majesty is thus subjected to a species of compli¬ 
mentary espionage and voluntary slavery which must 
often be most tedious and unpleasant. It seems to me 
that a crown is not worth what it costs to keep it; but 
of that others may be better judges. The Queen of 
England is much beloved by her people, and strangers 
in London are always eager to see her. The gate of 
the palace is besieged in the afternoon by a crowd, 
waiting to see her drive out; and as she dashes on, con¬ 
gratulations and blessings are heaped upon her. She 
may thank God that she lives in a day when the habit 
of putting kings and queens to death does not exist. 
She may read the melancholy tales of Anne Boleyn and 
the beautiful Lady Jane Grey, with no fear that her 
own head will ever rest upon the bloody block. 

Next to the queen, the stranger will desire to see 
the “ Iron Duke,” as the hero of Waterloo, the con¬ 
queror of Napoleon, is often called. The old man is 
now near the grave. The form which once was seen 
amid the din and carnage of battle is bending downward 


ROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. 


139 


to the tomb. We met him, one day, on horseback, 
riding slowly through the streets, observed and honored 
by all. Little boys cried, “ Here comes the duke,” and 
uncovered their heads ; and their parents, who had seen 
the old hero a hundred times, still stopped to gaze after 
him as he passed. No one who had ever seen a por¬ 
trait or statue of the Duke of Wellington could fail to 
recognize him. His countenance is marked and ]3ecu- 
liar, and his dress somewhat singular for a man of his 
age. A dark coat and white pants united upon the 
person of the venerable warrior, who sat upon a power¬ 
ful white horse, rendered him, as he moved on, a con- * 
spicuous figure. He is respected and beloved by all. 
The English people regard him as a national deliverer, 
and statues and monuments to his fame arise in every 
part of London. 

I also saw, and became familiar with, the counte¬ 
nances of other distinguished persons in London, among 
whom were the Duke of Argyle, the Earl of Chiches¬ 
ter, Lord John Russell, Lord Ashley, with several other 
earls, dukes, lords, and nobles, with titles of which I 
know not the meaning, and which I did not care to 
remember. They look, for all the world, so much like 
other men, — having noses, and mouths, and eyes, and 
hands, and feet just like yours and mine, — that any 
description of them would be tedious. Go out into the 
street, and stop the first man you meet; dress him in a 
dignified suit of black; and, instead of calling him 
John Smith, the cooper, just add a half dozen titles to 
his name, before and behind, and you have a very cor¬ 
rect idea of an English nobleman. This order of Eng¬ 
lish society live in aristocratic style. Buckingham Pal¬ 
ace is the town residence of the queen, and is a fine, 
stately building in St. James’s Park. Orders to visit 


140 


EURORA. 


this structure are given only during the absence of the 
royal family, and I did not enter it. The old St. 
James’s Palace is not now used as a royal residence; 
but its spacious halls and saloons are set apart for 
levees and royal frolicks, which are held there two or 
three times a year. The building will hardly compare 
externally with some of our brick boarding-houses in 
manufacturing cities, and has a deserted and dismal 
appearance. The apartments in which died Queen 
Mary I., Queen Caroline, and several of the royal line, 
and in which were born James the Pretender, Charles 
II., and George IV., still remain. 

Lambeth Palace, an old castle-like-looking place, and 
which brings up the idea of ghosts and hobgoblins, is 
the town house of the Archbishop of Canterbury. The 
Duke of Wellington lives in the Apsley House, a sort 
of genteel-looking prison in Piccadilly, while all over 
the metropolis rise tine buildings, in which reside the 
honored descendants of an illustrious ancestry, many 
of them beggared by their excesses, but still retaining 
the appearance of splendor. 

The interior of these palaces, in many cases, presents 
a rich appearance. By an order kindly given us by his 
excellency, lion. Abbott Lawrence, we visited the town 
house of the Duke of Northumberland, who, leaving 
the city during the summer, left his palace open, that 
the wondering people from the country might see how 
nobles live. The house is in Trafalgar Square, in the 
midst of the din and confusion of business. We were 
admitted by stewards, in whose charge the place now is, 
and at once a scene of great magnificence met the eye. 
The floors of the hall, and the splendid staircase,— 
wide enough for an army to march up in regiments, — 
were of polished marble. The walls were of composite 


ROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. 


141 


marble, with rich Italian pilasters and pillars. The 
stairs were covered with a rich carpet of crimson vel¬ 
vet, with gold fringes and borders several yards wide. 
The spacious apartments were hung with silk, dam¬ 
ask, or beautiful satin; pictures, mirrors, and portraits 
adorned the walls, while from stuccoed and frescoed 
ceilings hung massive chandeliers, sparkling and glis¬ 
tening like gems of glass and gold. An object of much 
interest in one of the sleeping apartments was a beau¬ 
tiful ottoman, worked by the fair hands of the unfortu¬ 
nate Queen Charlotte. 

The residence of Hon. Abbott Lawrence is near that 
of the Duke of Wellington. Mr. Lawrence lives in a 
style of magnificence corresponding with his own 
wealth, rather than with the simple republican notions 
of his countrymen. Americans usually call and pay 
their respects to our national representative, and, hav¬ 
ing taken a letter of introduction from a brother of his, 
I found my way, one morning, in company with Rev. 
Mr. M., of Boston, to the house. His office hour is 
eleven o’clock. We arrived ten minutes before the time, 
and inquired for his excellency, or Mr. Davis, the secre¬ 
tary, and were informed by the servant in livery that 
neither of them could be seen until office hour. “ We 
will go in and sit down in the office,” we said ; but he 
coolly informed us that we could do no such thing. 
It was raining at a furious rate, — one of those spite¬ 
ful, soon-over showers peculiar to London, — and we 
said, 44 We will stand in the hall until the rain abates, 
or the office is open; ” but the servant assured us that 
no provision was made for standing in the hall, and so 
we went out to pace Piccadilly in the driving rain. 
However wet and cold a reception we may have re¬ 
ceived, we were assured that Mr. Lawrence meets the 


/ 


i 


142 


EUROrA. 


American in London with the most cordial welcome, 
and furnishes him with every facility for becoming 
acquainted with objects of interest in the city. He is 
exceedingly popular, and maintains a state more nearly 
approaching that of English aristocrats than any man 
we have ever had at the court of that country. This 
may be wise and proper, but it will place his suc¬ 
cessor in a painful position, if his pocket should not 
be as deep, or his purse as long, as that of our present 
minister. 


WINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 


143 


X. 

i 

WINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 

A railroad ride of twenty-two miles brings us to 
'Windsor Castle, the country residence of the royal 
family. For eight centuries the monarchs of England 
have resorted to this proud old place, and here have 
transpired scenes which never can be buried up. While 
her majesty is visiting at Windsor, the national flag is 
kept flying continually from the summit of the Found 
Tower, and can be seen for many miles. When she 
returns to London, the flag is taken down and hoisted 
on Buckingham Palace. The day which I spent at the 
castle was one of the most interesting of my whole stay 
in England. Such a spot is a grand place to commune 
with the old feudal past; to bring back to one’s mind 
the knights of olden time, and gather them around the 
banquet. We passed in rapid succession through the 
various apartments, known as the audience room, the 
Vandyke room, the drawing room, the anterooms, the 
Waterloo chamber, the presence chamber, the guard 
chamber, all hung with fine paintings, by masters who 
have long since laid down the pencil, and have become 
themselves of less consequence than the canvas on 
which their time was employed. 

Within the walls of the castle is St. George’s Chapel, 
a fine church, which strikes the visitor with solemn 
awe as he enters it. The walls are hung with banners, 
and engraven with armorial bearings. The stalls in 


144 


EUKOPA. 


the choir are of a rich carved work, bearing the arms 
of the nobles who occupy them. A rich, deep-toned 
organ, at morning and evening, pours out a delightful 
strain of delicious music, and a “ dim religious light ” 
struggling through the stained Gothic windows, lends a 
solemn and awful feeling to every stranger. In a neat 
chapel is the cenotaph, erected to the memory of the 
Princess Charlotte of Saxe Coburg. It is an exquisite 
work, and one can hardly stand before the dumb, dead, 
cold marble without tears. It represents the princess 
lying in state upon a bier. At each corner of her 
death couch is the bowed form of a weeping attendant, 
while over all bends an angel holding the living child, 
in giving birth to which the beautiful princess passed 

awav from earth. 

%> 

The grounds around Windsor Castle are laid out 
with great beauty, and it is said that the queen can 
ride through them, thirty miles, winding backward and 
forward, without crossing her own track in any single 
instance. The Round Tower is nearly three hundred 
feet high, and from it, twelve counties can be seen 
spread out in fertile beauty. All around Windsor are 
places of interest. At a little distance Eton College 
rears its front; Virginia water, with its beautiful ac¬ 
companiments, is on the other side; while, all around, 
parks, groves, lakes, and ledges add beauty to the 
country, and render the place one of surpassing interest 
even to royalty itself. 

Hampton Court Palace was built by Cardinal Wol- 
sey, and given to Henry VIII. It is about twelve 
miles from London, and is one of the most beautiful 
spots in the kingdom. Within its walls more plans 
of shame, crime, and blood have been formed than in 
any other building in England. There, fallen and 
































































































































WINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 


145 


licentious ecclesiastics have reveled with lewd and dis¬ 
sipated kings and queens. There scenes of villainy 
have originated which have made the nation tremble. 
Kings have been born, married and died there, and the 
very walls seem to tremble with the records which they 
bear. The ride from London to Hampton is very fine, 
and the traveler is delighted with all he sees. On the 
way is the house of Alexander Pope, in which he lived 
and poetized; in the distance is seen the country resi¬ 
dence of Lord John Pussell; on the other side is the 
famous Strawberry Hill and villa ; while the whole 
country is rich and variecf as nature and art can make 
it. In the garden of this palace is the great grape 
vine, the largest in the world. It is a black Hamburg 
grape ; the main vine is thirty inches in circumference, 
and one hundred and ten feet long, and bears annually 
about twenty-five hundred bunches of delicious fruit, 
weighing somewhat over half a tun. The garden and 
parks are laid out with much taste, and the whole is a 
national monument which costs an immense sum to 
keep it in repair. It is not used by the royal family, 
but is made the residence of privileged nurses and 
servants of the old nobles. It has a mournful appear¬ 
ance, and one can hardly fail to recall the scenes which 
have transpired here, and which have made the name 
of Cardinal Wolsey and Hampton Court Palace famous 
throughout the world. 

Passing along Fleet Street one day, I saw r in large 
capitals, on a rude, old-fashioned, crowded building, 
“ This was the palace of Cardinal Wolsey and Henry 
VIII.; ” and on entering, I found it occupied by a 
barber, who requested me to sit down and be shaved in 
a chair once owned by the cardinal. While he was 
operating, I cast my eyes around, and saw the walls 

19 m 


146 


EUROPA. 


and ceiling all bearing evidence of former opulence and 
splendor; and when I went away, I found I was obliged 
to pay an extra sixpence for having sat in the cardinal’s 
chair. When I remonstrated, the fellow very coolly 
asked me if I did not come in to be shaved. His im¬ 
pudence was so humorous, that I could not resist it; 
and I paid him the extra sixpence, telling him it was 
the first time I was ever shaved with a chair. I am 
willing to be imposed upon sometimes, if it is done 
with real wit and genuine good nature, and so resolved 
to call on the barber again. I refused to sit down in 
the cardinal’s chair, and another was provided. While 
my hair was being dressed, he commenced conversation. 

“ You are from America, sir.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ A very clever people them, sir.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Californy is close by you, sir.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Did ye bring your better half over, sir ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is your business good now, sir ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And ye are a pretty clever man at making money, 
sir?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And how do ye make it, sir ? ” 

I thought a moment, and replied, — 

“By keeping clear of barbers, sir.” 

I preserved my gravity, and he commenced a low 
whistle, at the same time scrubbing and scraping my 
head, pulling my hair, and pouring on oil until it ran 
down into my eyes, when all at once he commenced 
again. 


WINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 147 

“You are growing bald, sir — losing your hair very 
fast, sir.” 

“Ah! O!” said I, rather astonished at this infor¬ 
mation. 

“I can sell you some oil—Cardinal Wolsey oil — 
which will bring it all out again, sir.” 

I told him that I had no occasion for his oil, and 
requested him to stop rubbing my head, lest his declara¬ 
tion should soon prove too true. I arose from the chair, 
supposing that I had outwitted the barber, and asked 
him his charge. 

“ Two shillings, sir,” (equal to fifty cents.) 

“ How is that] ” I asked. 

“ Why,” replied he coolly, “ sixpence for shaving, 
and one and sixpence for the oil.” 

“ Oil! oil! ” said I; “ what oil 1 ” 

“ Why, the oil which the lad has wrapped up in a 
bill, and put in your coat, sir.” 

And, sure enough, a bottle of oil was found in my 
pocket; and, as I unrolled and examined it, the impu¬ 
dent fellow stood by, exclaiming, “ I never take back 
what I sell; no, I never do.” 

It was no use; and I paid the charge, used the oil, 
and the bottle remaineth to remind me occasionally 
how keenly an Irish barber outwitted the Yankee trav¬ 
eler, and how I was shaved four times in London — 
twice with a razor, once with a chair, and once with a 
bottle of oil. 


148 


EUROPA. 




»• 

i 


\ 

XL 

PARLIAMENT — TOWER — WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

The old Houses of Parliament were consumed in 
1834, and the new Houses now in process of erection 
will doubtless be the finest specimens of Gothic archi¬ 
tecture in the world, and will cover an area of nine 
acres; The House of Commons is not yet complete ; 
the House of Lords is finished, and in use. Through 
the kindness of an English friend, I obtained admit¬ 
tance to the House of Lords while that august body 
was in session. The room is ninety feet long, forty-five 
feet wide, and forty feet high. At the end opposite the 
entrance is the throne — a sort of a chair, which is oc¬ 
cupied by the queen on state occasions. On the right 
is a chair for the Prince of Wales, and on the left one 
for Prince Albert. Immediately in front and below 
the throne is the woolsack, or the seat of the lord 
chancellor, the presiding officer. The effect, on enter¬ 
ing the house, is wonderful. The stained glass win¬ 
dows ; the light, airy, trellised, and carved work ; the 
abundance of gilt and gold, — is, for a while, painfully 
gorgeous. On the day of my visit, the house was filled 
with a gay and brilliant assemblage; and I think I 
never entered a legislative assembly where the impres¬ 
sion produced was more profound. A discussion was 
in progress on the ecclesiastical title bill, and in it Lord 
Beaumont, Viscount Canning, the Duke of Wellington, 
the Duke of Argyle, the Earl of Aberdeen, and the 


PARLIAMENT — TOWER — WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 149 

Marquis of Lansdowne engaged. The debate was dull 
enough, though the subject was one of exciting interest. 
The remarks were generally commonplace, and uttered 
by each speaker as if he cared little whether they were 
heard and heeded or not. I remember only what was 
said by the Duke of Wellington, who expressed his 
fear that the designs of Popery were not as clearly un¬ 
derstood and guarded against as they should be. He 
feared the tyrant at Pome more than all the armies of 
Europe — the ingenuity and subtlety of the Jesuit more 
than the roar of battle. I do not pretend to give his 
words; but they formed a noble sentence, and were 
nobly uttered. I should hardly think this body would 
compare favorably, for intellect and grasp of thought, 
with that branch of our own federal government which 
corresponds with it — the Senate. 

The Commons meet in a dull, dingy hall, their house, 
as yet, being unfinished. This body is composed of 
the younger sons of the nobles, respectable tradesmen, 
and agricultors, and resembles our House of Repre¬ 
sentatives. I obtained admittance on two occasions. 
The members were noisy, boisterous, sitting with their 
hats on, the whole group forming as admirable a speci¬ 
men of a bear garden as can be found. The debates 
were more exciting, and the whole scene more tumultu¬ 
ous, than that witnessed in the House of Lords. On 
one occasion, the ecclesiastical bill was up; and on the 
other, a bill for the supply of the metropolis with water 
was under discussion, the most prominent speaker, on 
the first occasion, being one Murphy, an Irishman, and 
on the second, Lord John Pussell. 1 cannot say that 
my opinion of the ability of English legislators was at 
all increased by these visits. In the House of Com¬ 
mons, two or three members who rose to speak were 


150 


EUROPA. 


fairly laughed down, one half the house setting up a 
mock laugh the moment they commenced, and continu¬ 
ing until, unable to be understood in a single sentence, 
they sat down in confusion. For decorum, ability, elo¬ 
quence, and real power, I think our own legislative 
bodies would compare favorably with those two assem¬ 
blies, from which goes out an influence which reaches 
to the ends of the world. Our statesmen are destitute 
of high-sounding titles and royal honors ; hut illustri¬ 
ous names are known in our halls of Congress, which, 
in a single session, would stand among the highest in 
the Parliament of England. 

Intimately connected with the nobility of England is 
the famous old Tower of London. More interest gath¬ 
ers around that pile of buildings than around Victoria’s 
throne; and one would as soon go to Pome, and neg¬ 
lect to enter St. Peter’s, as to visit London, and fail to 
see the Tower. It was founded by "William the Con¬ 
queror ; and an old legend declares, probably without 
truth, that the mortar was tempered with the blood of 
beasts. By his successors it has been enlarged and im¬ 
proved, and, at times, occupied — now as a palace, then 
as a prison. As we passed through the gloomy gate¬ 
way, into the place of blood, a guide met us, wearing 
a black hat, with a crown unusually low, and a brim 
unusually wide, around Avhich ribins of several colors 
were tied, a coat of red, ornamented with gold lace, 
making the man a very forbidding and grotesque-look- . 
ing personage. The buildings cover an irregular area 
of thirteen acres, and were formerly surrounded by a 
ditch, from which the water is now drawn, and in 
which a company of soldiers were parading. Twice I 
wandered through this gloomy edifice — once with my 
traveling companions, and once alone. With a chill 


PARLIAMENT — TOWER — WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 151 

of horror, I wandered from armory to armory, hall to 
hall, tower to tower. 

It was here that Sir Thomas More came to his terri¬ 
ble end, his head having been struck off with an ax, 
while his daughter clung around his neck with all the 
heroism of childlike devotion. Here William Wallace 
was confined after his unfortunate attempt to give lib¬ 
erty to Scotland, and from here he was dragged at a 
horse’s tail to Smithfield, and barbarously murdered. 
Here Henry VI. was assassinated — the object of foul 
conspiracies, the victim of unsatisfiable ambition. Here 
the young princes were smothered by the order of Richard 
III., in all the helplessness of childhood; and here the 
murderer afterwards met the fate he so richly deserved. 
Here Bishop Fisher was executed, to satisfy the ma¬ 
lignity of a wicked monarch whose foolish pretensions 
he refused to acknowledge. Here Anne Boleyn met 
her fate, protesting that her only crime was in having- 
lost the love of her husband, who, three days after her 
head was struck off, led the beautiful Jane Seymour to 
the unhallowed altar. Here the Countess of Salisbury, 
accused of treason, ran around the fatal block, the exe¬ 
cutioner striking at her head at every step, until she 
fell covered with wounds. Here Lady Jane Grey, the 
victim of the weak ambition of her friends, having suf¬ 
fered herself to be crowned, was confined, tried, and 
executed. Here Arabella Stuart was confined, until, 
her health departed, her reason tied, and covered with 
disease, she died a lunatic. Here the gifted Earl of 
Strafford was confined and put to death under the eye 
of Cromwell, soon followed to the block by Laud, the 
corrupt ecclesiastic and unprincipled statesman. Time 
will not allow me to dwell upon the scenes of horror 
which have here been witnessed. For centuries, the 


152 


EUROPA. 


block and the rack have been doing their work; and 
hundreds daily visit the bloody apartments, to wonder 
at the cruelty of man, and to thank God that the day 
of darkness has passed, never to return. At times, 
the old walls have rung with shouts of joy, and anon 
echoed with groans of anguish. Now, the marriage fes¬ 
tival has been held here ; and anon, the bride is brought 
to the block, and her headless trunk and trunkless head 
roll over together, and are borne away to a dishonored 
grave. 

In the Tower are kept the crown jewels, which are 
objects of much interest to those who are unaccustomed 
to the sight of such baubles. In this collection are 
crowns which have been worn by Charles II. and various 
other monarchs ; scepters which have been used under 
different reigns ; the royal spurs of gold worn at the 
coronations ; the bracelets and other jewels worn by 
the queen on state occasions ; the golden swords of 
mercy and justice ; the baptismal stand from which the 
royal babies are sprinkled; the sacramental service 
used at coronations ; with many other baubles, the use 
of which I did not know. The object of all others in 
which I was most interested was the new crown made 
for Victoria, and worn at her coronation. It is a sort 
of baby cap, of purple velvet, “ enclosed by silver 
hoops, covered with diamonds. Surmounting these 
hoops is a ball, also adorned with small diamonds, 
bearing a cross formed of brilliants, in the center of 
which is a unique sapphire. In the front of this crown 
is the heart-formed ruby stated to have been worn by 
Edward the Black Prince.” What these toys cost, and 
at what they are valued, I could form no estimate, nor 
could the good old lady, who, with a consequential air, 
admitted us into the room, inform me. 


PARLIAMENT —TOWER —WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 153 

On one occasion, a bold attempt was made to steal 
these crown jewels, and would have succeeded but for 
the bravery of the old man who at that time had them 
in his care. The robber, however, escaped without 
punishment, and afterwards became a man of eminence 
and honor. 

These visits to the Tower made a deep and lasting 
impression. I cannot now forget those tokens and 
evidences of the past; and they often rise before me, 
spoiling some fair vision, and dissipating some dream 
of good. The block, the ax, the rack, the chain, 
remain, while the tyrant and the victim have passed 
away. Long will the Tower stand. The history of 
England for past centuries is written there, and read 
there by hundreds every day. It is a dark history, 
such as one would read at midnight, and over which, 
as yet, tears enough have not been shed to blot it out. 
What St. Angelo is to Lome, the Tower is to London. 

Having glanced at the nobility of England, it is 
proper that we should visit the place where their ashes 
lie, and where their dead repose. Westminster Abbey 
needs no description. It has stood for centuries, one 
of the greatest monuments of the old world. Once 
monks and friars chanted solemn services beneath its 
arches ; it is now the tomb of dead kings and a per¬ 
ished nobility. Every day a service is performed by 
the priests of the reformed religion, and every night 
the moon looks through the old windows upon the 
shadows of the mighty past. There all the monarchs 
of England are crowned in an old chair, which none 
of us would keep in our houses, and which, for the 
purpose of coronation, is covered with velvet. Here 
the diadem was placed upon the head of Victoria, and 
from these walls went out the glad shout of the pop- 

20 


154 


EUROPA. 


ulace. I felt an indescribable awe creeping over me 
as I stood in the Poets’ Corner, and read the names 
of Jonson, Spenser, Milton, Gray, Dry den, Thomson, 
Southey, Shakspeare, Addison, and a host of others ; 
or wandered down the nave, or across the transept, into 
the chapels of ITenry VII. and the others; into the 
cold cloisters where monks once sat, where the dead 
now live in monuments and inscriptions of during 
might. Here are kings wTio went down from thrones 
and from blocks ; generals who fell on battle fields, or 
in the loved retreats of home; poets who have w r on 
immortal renown; men of wealth, fashion, skill, and 
piety; all, all, in one common sepulcher, repose in the 
embrace of death. Monuments of all forms, and cov¬ 
ered with all kinds of inscriptions, true and false ; 
statues, busts, blocks, and slabs, some as old as the 
venerable pile itself, and some of yesterday, uttering 
the mortality of the great, and wise, and good; — 

“ Marble monuments are here displayed, 

Thronging the walls ; and on the floor beneath 
Sepulchral stones appear, with emblems graven, 

And foot-worn epitaphs ; and some with small 
And shining effigies of brass inlaid. 

The tribute by those various records claimed 
Without reluctance do we pay — and read 
The obituary chronicle of birth, 

Office, alliance, and promotion — all 
Ending in dust.” 

I found opportunity, when weary of the noise, strife, 
and confusion of the great city, to retire, as I did on 
several occasions, to muse on man, his pomp, pride, and 
end. It did my heart good to sit down in that old 
vaulted place, or to walk along the damp cloisters, or 
look through into the chapels, and hold communion 


PARLIAMENT — TOWER — WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 155 

with the dead past. In St. Paul’s, and in the churches 
of London, the English service, drawled out, seemed to 
me to be most miserable mockery. But in the Abbey, 
it filled my soul with unutterable solemnity. It sound¬ 
ed so much like death, and death as it was there, in 
that old cathedral, that its effect was irresistible. 

And methinks the coronation of the monarchs of 
England in that venerated edifice would have some¬ 
thing of mournfulness about it. When from the 
tower and the temple, across the parks and down the 
broad ways, comes the mighty tide, moving into the 
Abbey and filling it full, there must be heard the voices 
of the past swelling out from rich sarcophagus and 
stately tomb, to speak to that crowned one of dust and 
ashes. There must be, with all the gayety, some mourn¬ 
ful association connected with that glad service, which 
testifies to the surging masses that they have come to 
the house of death, as well as to the temple of life. 
The ringing bells, thundering cannon, harmonious an¬ 
thems, shouting crowds, and brilliant ceremonies can¬ 
not drive away the shades of the dim old arches, as 
they seem to bend, in worship or mockery, over the life 
which will soon be closed in death. 

Were I about to lay aside my manhood and become 
a monk, or a friar, and give myself up to the mistaken 
notions of a religious life, and could I choose the spot 
where my self-imposed seclusion should be passed, I 
would select that emblem of eternity, which stands 
alone, a sepulcher amidst the tumultuous beatings of 
life, in the very heart of the great metropolis— West¬ 
minster Abbey. 


156 


EUROPA. 


XII. 

MEN AND THINGS. 

The display made by the nobles of England on 
public occasions is very great, and even on ordinary 
occasions is greater than that of any other nation which 
I have visited. On any bright, beautiful afternoon, 
during the past summer, a stranger might have been 
amused for hours in watching the carriages of the 
nobles as they drove in and out of Hyde Park. I stood 
at the gate one day, and saw T them rolling out at the 
rate of six hundred an hour; and seldom has any mili¬ 
tary display been of more interest. There seemed a 
wealth and dignity to all this unlike any such exhibi¬ 
tion I had ever seen. The carriages were drawn by two 
or four horses, beautifully harnessed, while the coach¬ 
man, with his powdered wig, sitting on the box, and the 
footmen, with their gay red velvet breeches and blue 
coats, standing behind, seemed as proud as their mas¬ 
ters w r ho rode within. Sometimes these carriages are 
preceded by outriders on horseback, and not unfre- 
quently have I noticed some five or six men in attend¬ 
ance upon one lady. In more than one instance I 
noticed that the only occupant of the carriage was a 
pet dog, who seemed to enjoy the sport finely. In such 
cases, I presume the family did not wish to ride, and 
sent out their servants and equipage to keep up the 
dignity of the parade; 

The English ladies, as far as I could see, though I do 


MEN AND THINGS. 


157 


not pretend to be a judge, are less beautiful than our 
own. They accustom themselves to out-of-door exer¬ 
cise, and the middle and lower classes are far less 
attractive than the same classes here. But while this 
may be the fact, English women are generally far more 
capable than our own. The early education of Ameri¬ 
can ladies unfits them for almost all the duties and 
pursuits of life. They grow up greenhouse plants, 
that too often wither at the least exposure. They 
cannot go a mile in stage or rail car without a male 
attendant, and shrink back from the least responsibility 
with horror The English women, of the highest and 
lowest rank, find pleasure in an opposite course, and in 
some cases aspire to duties belonging to the other sex. 

I was disappointed in Englishmen to some extent. 
They were not so portly, on the whole, as I supposed ; 
and while there were seen few tall, lean, cadaverous 
men, as among us, there were less of the aldermanic 
size than I expected to find. The English people give 
themselves up to enjoyment to a much greater degree 
than we do. Here, it is all “ get, get; ” but there, the 
desire to enjoy prevails. Consequently the signs of 
health are more often seen, and each cheek bears the 
impress of generous living. 

The English, less frequently than our people, wear 
false hair, when that which nature gave them has de¬ 
parted. The old man does not cover his bald pate and 
his snowy locks with the scalp of a dead man, nor 
does the aged woman pin fine curls under her neat 
cap, to cover a stray lock, which, in accordance with 
a natural law, has become bleached by time. 

Men and women seem to believe that a hoary head 
is a crown of honor, and act accordingly. But among 
us, the venerable old man will often destroy his white 

N 


158 


k uii or A. 


locks by covering his head with a protection which 
nature put upon the cranium of a savage or an idiot. 
I recall the countenance of a good man who once lived 
and moved among us, whose hoary head I loved to 
gaze upon, as the white locks floated in the breeze. 
But one day, he came forth with his wig, to the aston¬ 
ishment of all, and I have missed that venerable head 
from that day to this. 

The wigs worn in England are used irrespective of 
baldness. I was not a little amused, one day, in wan¬ 
dering about the courts of London, to find the lawyers 
and judges all buried up in monstrous gray wigs and 
black robes. Some of them were very young men, and 
I had seen them elsewhere with fine locks and beauti¬ 
ful hair ; but here, each had on the gray powdered wig, 
which rolled down upon his shoulders. From beneath 
this useless appendage a pair of keen eyes looked forth, 
and two thirds of the members of the bar looked more 
like monkeys than human beings. I saw Talfourd thus 
arrayed, and I hardly think I shall want to read 
another verse of his, until the comical look which he 
had on is effaced from my memory. 

The coachmen of fine families, though mere boys, are 
often decorated in this way; and the rich adornment of 
nature is buried up with the long, tangled, powdered, 
curled, and uncomely flax of the show case. 

The dress of English gentlemen is generally plain, 
and less Frenchified than that of Americans. The cut 
of an English coat, and the trim of an English hat, are 
any thing but pleasing ; and few who purchase in Lon¬ 
don use them when they return. The English ladies 
dress, I should judge, more richly and less gaudily than 
the same class and rank in our country. No English 
woman feels that she is compelled by fashion to sweep 


MEN AND THINGS. 


159 


the sidewalks with her dress, or wear thin shoes amid 
the peltings of a storm. Than among us there is less 
of that mock modesty which blushes at a dress which 
does not cover the ankle, boot, and foot, and drag 
through the mud and water — the frequent cause of 
disease and death. There is less of that miserable fash¬ 
ion which compels a lady to wear a shoe through which 
the damp chill and the wet and cold find their way as 
soon as the foot is placed upon the ground. Often 
have I seen ladies crossing the muddy streets of Lon¬ 
don with clogs, or wire sandals, which keep the foot 
from a contact with the mud, and save the wearer from 
a needless exposure. 

While there may be less of what often passes for 
politeness among the English than among the French, 
there is far more genial hospitality among the former 
than among the latter people. They do you a kindness 
with a hearty good will, which makes you feel its hon¬ 
esty, and enables you to appreciate its worth. I am 
still indebted to several English friends, who received 
me with a cordiality which I shall long remember. 

Were I to hazard an opinion, I should say there was 
more domestic bliss and well-ordered family government 
than among us. The training of youth is not left so 
much to the teacher of the day or Sunday school, but 
the mind and heart of the parent come more directly 
into contact with the mind and heart of the child. Be¬ 
sides, English people are much at home, and have more 
sources of pleasure around their own firesides, than have 
we. I think while on the continent I met more Ameri¬ 
can than English travelers. We love to roam, and home 
loses its attractions. We love progress and change, and 
often the fire on the hearthstone is put out. But the 
Englishman feels that his own country is the best on 


160 


EUROPA. 


earth. Paris, Pome, Naples, have far less attractions 
than busy, crowded London. The absence of any gen¬ 
eral system of education compels more extensive home 
education, and all these causes combined furnish a 
larger number of well-regulated families. Boys and 
girls, when they enter their teens, do not become older 
and wiser, and of more consequence, than their par¬ 
ents, and hence a large amount of crime and sorrow, 
which is the usual attendant upon an early abandon¬ 
ment of parental authority, is avoided. Children seem 
to grow up with more fixed and settled habits of 
thought and action ; and, when they go forth from the 
parental roof, they go with opinions formed, and princi¬ 
ples of action decided upon. Of course, to all these 
remarks there are some exceptions; and yet I think 
you find in England more correct and valuable views 
of the family relation, and a more just appreciation of 
its blessings. 


PRISONS —RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 161 


XIII. 

/ 

PRISONS —RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 

My desire, in visiting London, was not merely to see! 
the Crystal Palace, the great Cathedral, and the royal 
family. I wished to find my way into those scenes of 
wo which have been pictured before us in the reports 
of benevolent societies and the statistics of crime. And 
this object I found it no w T ay difficult to accomplish. I 
was enabled to obtain much valuable information from 
police officers, of whom there are about five thousand, 
divided into eighteen companies, each wearing a neat 
uniform, lettered and numbered so that he can be recog¬ 
nized without difficulty. These policemen take great 
pleasure in giving information and furnishing the stran¬ 
ger w T ith every facility for securing a knowledge of the 
metropolis. These men are seen upon every corner, 
and in every lane and avenue of the city ; and their 
presence enables a stranger to feel as safe at midnight' 
as at noonday. Hour after hour have I walked up and 
down with one of these men, listening to some tale of 
horror in which he has been called to act a part. 
Scarcely was I in London a waking hour in which I 
did not make an inquiry of some one of them,, and 
oftentimes my question was the suggestion of Yankee 
inquisitiveness; yet in no single instance did I receive 
an uncivil reply, or hear an uncourteous remark. 

One morning, I was directed by one of these men to 
the “Old Bailev,” one of the most notorious courts in 

21 N* 


162 


EUROPA. 


London, where about four thousand offenders are tried 
annually. The court room was a very mean one, and 
thronged with policemen, barristers, and spectators. I 
paid a small fee, and was admitted to the gallery. The 
case was an affecting one. A young man about twenty- 
two years of age had committed an assault upon his 
aged mother, (as near as I could judge of the case by 
the short time I remained,) by which she had died at 
the time, or soon afterwards ; and here he was arraigned 
for matricide. The particulars of the case I could not 
collect; and, though I examined the papers afterwards, 
I could not learn his fate. 

The number of courts in London is not large; but 
those that do exist drive business, as you may judge 
from the fact that, within five years, (between 1844 and 
1848,) three hundred and seventy-four thousand seven 
hundred and ten persons were taken into custody by 
the police; and, during the same years, there were sev¬ 
enty thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine robberies, 
in which property was stolen to the amount of one 
million three hundred and fifty-four thousand seven 
hundred and twenty-five dollars. 

Near by Old Bailey is the famous Newgate Prison, a 
cold, forbidding-looking stone edifice, in the heart of 
the city. I felt a cold shudder pass over me as I en¬ 
tered with a policeman one day, and pursued my way 
through the halls and by the cells, from out of which 
glared the eyes of the criminals, now wet with tears, 
and then glistening with rage and hate. In the prison 
is a chapel, in which the English service is read to the 
prisoners. In the center of this chapel is a chair which 
is assigned to the condemned murderer, and in which 
he sits on the Sabbath previous to his execution. In 
other days, a coffin, in which he was soon to be buried, 


PRISONS—RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 163 


was brought in and laid at his feet, that, as the service 
went on, the doomed man might see it, and be continu¬ 
ally reminded of his coming fate. Frequently the pris¬ 
oner did not know the time appointed for his execution 
until he was led in and seated in the condemned chair, 
where, in some cases, he sat in sullen silence, and, in 
other cases, in sobbing grief. I thought I would like 
to gather the young men of our city around me in that 
stern, gloomy chapel, and preach a discourse to them 
on the “ dissuasives from crime,” and draw from those 
condemned cells, cold walls, and the criminal’s chair, 
illustrations of the truth of the Scripture declaration, 
that “ the way of the transgressor is hard.” But, alas! 
sermons are never preached in that chapel until it is too 
late. In front of the prison is an open space, in which 
prisoners are executed; and, as I walked across it, the 
very earth seemed stained with blood. I visited several 
prisons, but saw nothing which differed materially from 
prisons in America. 

The ragged schools of London present a more sad and 
solemn picture of the condition of the city than do the 
prisons. I never knew what a ragged school was until 
I saw one. I never imagined the scene which presented 
itself to my view as I entered such an institution. A 
clerical friend accompanied me, one afternoon, to see one 
of these schools. About fifty boys were assembled, just 
as they had been gathered up out of the filth of the 
street. Their clothes were torn and ragged, their faces 
dirty, and their hair uncombed. In a little, narrow 
room, unventilated and dreary, they were crowded to¬ 
gether. The presence of strangers restrained them but 
a moment, when they began to train to the best of their 
ability. At the request of the teacher, I addressed 
them in simple language, telling them the story of 


164 


EIJROPA. 


Jesus, from his birth to his dreadful crucifixion on Cal¬ 
vary. While 1 was describing scenes in the Savior’s 
life, they listened ; but when I began to urge them to 
love the Savior, they began to play. I continued until 
I saw a lad about fifteen years of age ripping the bind¬ 
ing from my hat, which was already pretty well used 
up. After my remarks were closed, a gentleman pres¬ 
ent offered prayer. He stood with his hat in his hands, 
and his handkerchief in his hat. When his prayer Avas 
nearly finished, a large boy made a pass, and, seizing 
the handkerchief, uttered a shout, and ran out into the 
street, followed by nearly the whole school. It w r as 
one of the most laughingly painful scenes I ever wit¬ 
nessed. The clergyman kept on praying, the teacher 
ran after the handkerchief, and I stood by debating 
whether it was best for me to weep or laugh. 

On another occasion, I visited a school in company 
with Ilev. Mr. Overbury, in which the government 
seemed to be nearly as defective. I tried to speak, and 
my friend tried to pray ; but neither of us could secure 
the attention of the wretched-looking little creatures 
who sat on the side benches, pictures of abject poverty 
and tvo. 

But the most terrible scene of this kind I witnessed 
on the last Sabbath evening of my stay in London. I 
had preached in the evening for Bev. Mr. Stovel, and 
one of his friends accompanied me to a school in Field 
Lane, near Smith-field. This school is in the vicinity 
of one of the most depraved portions of the city ; and 
those who attend are, in many cases, notorious thieves, 
who come in for a purpose which will afterwards be 
seen. We found the building, and went up over a nar¬ 
row staircase into a chamber which would hold about 
two hundred persons. The walls were whitewashed, 


PRISONS —RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 165 


and mottoes and sentences of Scripture were put up all 
around. In one end were a platform and gallery for 
singers, and opposite, in the other end, was a rude 
painting of Christ blessing little children. The school 
was done when we entered, and a prayer meeting was 
being held. The children had retired, but about one 
hundred and fifty men and women remained. They 
were all in a kneeling posture; but many heads were 
up, eyes gazing about, and hands employed in molesting 
others. We made our way to the platform, where we 
found several American clergymen, and from where we 
could obtain a fair view of the whole school. And 
such a spectacle I never saw before. Each counte¬ 
nance bore some feature of hate, malice, knavery, or 
of wo and wTetchedness. Poorly clad, with unshaven 
faces and sinister expression, they formed a group such 
as could be gathered from no state’s prison in America. 
Some were barefoot; some were shirtless; some had 
red and swollen eyes — .sure evidence of intemperance ; 
and some had eyes keen and piercing; some looked as 
if they had spent the day in a coal-pit; not one seemed 
to have had any thing to do with water and soap ; and 
such disagreeable effluvia — O ! 

Two or three prayers were offered, two or three 
hymns were sung, and the meeting closed. We then 
went down into the room under the school, to see about 
seventy-five of the men “ put to bed,” as the term is. 
In the dormitories, accommodations are made for lodg¬ 
ing about one hundred. They are furnished with a 
blanket, which they can use for bed, coverlet, or pillow. 
The cribs, or berths, are about seven feet long and three 
wide, and into them the poor creatures crawl for the 
night. A roll of bread is given to each one for supper 
and breakfast. The prospect of a lodging-place at night 


166 


EUROPA. 


is the inducement for these unhappy persons to come 
to the school. They are let out in the morning, and 
work, beg, or steal, as they have inclination, during the 
day, and then return at night. Mr. Greeley, describing 
a visit made by him to this same school, speaks of the 
compartments where these men sleep as “ half way be¬ 
tween a bread tray and a hog trough," and affirms that 
“ there are not many hogs in America who are not 
better lodged than these poor human brothers and sis¬ 
ters.” No man with a human heart can go in and look 
upon this scene of degradation without being moved 
with pity. The first feeling will be one of surprise, 
which will soon lose itself in deep commiseration for 
the miserable objects of want and crime. For days, I 
could not efface the scene from my memory; and now 
it rises up before me like a dark vision which I well 
remember to have seen, but which I can hardly believe 
to be an existing fact. As I returned from this ragged 
school, I passed a little lane into which I saw the peo¬ 
ple running; and, as I always made it a point to see 
all that could be seen, I ran too. Mingling in the 
crowd, I soon found in the center two women engaged 
in a desperate fight. What the cause was I do not 
know; but they were aiming their blows at each 
other with well-directed fury. A crowd of women were 
urging them on, and, for a few minutes, the scene baffled 
all description. The police soon led them off, each with 
black eyes and bruised nose, cursing each other from 
lips out of which the blood was flowing continually. 

Sabbath schools in London, while they draw much 
attention, do not accomplish the good which they might 
were they differently conducted. The rich and influ¬ 
ential do not care to send their children to them, and 
hence few besides the poor attend. As far as I could 


PRISONS —RAGGED SCHOOLS —GIN PALACES. 167 


judge from a visit made to Mr. Noel’s Sabbatli school 
and several others, the children who attend are mostly 
the children of poor parents. I asked a little girl, with 
whom I walked home from church one day, if she went 
to Sunday school. She looked in my face to see if I was 
in earnest, and, seeing I was, gave me a negative reply 
with the utmost contempt. I was urging this point at 
breakfast one morning with a clergyman of the church 
of England, who said to me frankly, “ I do not think 
it well that the poor should receive much education 
in the Sabbath school.” “ And pray, why not, sir 'l ” 
“ Because it will give them wrong notions of society, 
and make them vyish to rise above their level” I could 
scarcely restrain my expression of contempt for a man 
who, in this age, should be guilty of such an abominable 
remark. “Above their level!” as if there could be 
any level to which a child with a heart and conscience 
might not wish to rise, and on which, if he could reach 
it, he has no right to stand! The man’s name I wrote 
in my journal on the day when this remark was made; 
but yesterday I blotted it out, and hope I may never 
see it written, or hear it spoken, until the man who 
holds such an inhuman sentiment finds his level; and 
where that will be, the Lord only knows. But this man 
is not alone. The sentiment which he uttered is one 
which struggles out every week from the public jour¬ 
nals, and from the altars of the established church, and 
Exeter Hall seems to be almost the only place where 
Humanity can freely utter her voice. 

The world over, the gin palaces of London are men¬ 
tioned as objects of painful curiosity. I was more 
eager to see them than I was to gaze upon the stately 
walls of old Buckingham, or wander through the halls 
of Windsor Castle. Several Saturday evenings passed 


168 


EUROPA. 


by me in London I devoted to this purpose, and in 
accomplishing it saw many a scene which made my 
heart bleed. A London gin palace is nothing more 
nor less than a gin shop, with splendid adornments, 
where the poor come to drink their poison. On Sat¬ 
urday evening, the business is most flourishing, and 
many a poor forlorn object of charity and pity comes 
to spend the earnings of the week in the elixir of death. 

My usual plan in visiting the palaces was, to divest 
myself of every thing which would indicate my profes¬ 
sion, and desire to see the horrors of the system, and sit 
down on a bench or chair, until I found I was drawing 
observation, and then leave for some new field of studv 
and reflection. One evening, in company with a police 
officer whom I feed for the purpose, I went to one of 
the worst of these places, and sat down. The shop 
was adorned and fitted in good style. Every thing was 
clean and shining. Silver knobs and inscriptions, pol¬ 
ished drinking vessels, reflected the brilliant rays of the 
burning gas. The young men and women, who were 
dealing out the liquid fire, were genteel, benevolent- 
looking people, and one might almost imagine the place 
to be the depository of life, instead of the depot of 
death. I sat down, with a cap on my head, on a seat 
opposite the bar, behind a crowd of customers. A con¬ 
tinual tide was passing in and out, and I counted, in 
the short time I remained, fifty-seven persons who came 
and went. One woman, with a babe about seven weeks 
old, came and sat down on the bench near me, and very 
politely offered to share her gin with me. She had a 
pot which might have held nearly a pint. I could not 
accept of her kind offer, but entered into conversation 
with her. She had drank enough to be quite talkative, 
and soon some very interesting portions of her history 


PRISONS — RAGGED SCHOOLS — GIN PALACES. 169 

were told. Now and then w r ould she stop sipping her 
gin, to nurse her babe. Two little girls, apparently twin 
sisters, with a mother, also came, and sat down near. 
They were not more than ten or twelve years old, and 1 
looked to see if the brutal keepers would sell spirits to 
such children. As they advanced to the counter, they 
were greeted with a smile of recognition, and a dose of 
the poison given them, which they drank without a 
moment’s hesitation, not even stopping to smack their 
' lips. They returned to the bench, and began to con¬ 
verse with those around them; and of all the streams 
of filthy, blasphemous words which I ever heard flow 
from human lips, this surpassed all. Almost every man 
that approached them would be invited to drink, or to- 
give them drink, until they became so noisy that they 
were ordered by the keeper to depart. One old man 
standing in a corner, was so drunk that he would fall 
if he moved; and so there he stood, over eighty years 
of age, uttering a torrent of abuse, and hiccoughing out 
his blasphemy. For more than a half hour he stood 
in this condition, abused by the keeper, ridiculed by the 
customers, until an aged woman, with tears streaming 
down her cheeks, opened the door, pressed her way 
through the crowd, and led him out amid the derision 
of those who remained. I saw a woman who was 
endeavoring to induce her son to leave and return home 
with her. Words and blows he gave her in return, 
and positively refused to leave. I felt for that poor 
woman, and determined to help out her argument, and 
forthwith began to advise the young man to obey the 
Toice of maternal counsel, and return home. But I 
soon found I was provoking a storm. He very kindly 
informed me that unless “ I held my jaw he would send 
his flippers into my peepers; ” and though I did not 

22 o 


170 


EUROPA. 


understand his language precisely, I concluded that 
such a catastrophe as he threatened was nowise desi¬ 
rable, as I was engaged to preach the next day. So I 
wisely refrained, and saw the poor woman move away, 
with a sigh from a heart which doubtless had been long 
broken. The young man remained, and when I left 
the shop, he was half asleep, his head leaning against a 
post near by the bench on which he w T as sitting. 

The most deplorable sights which I saw in these 
breathing-holes of hell were those in which mothers 
brought their children forward to the counter, and gave 
them the dram. These cases were not unfrequent, and 
the children seemed to relish the gin as much as their 
parents. Probably the liquor sold in these establish¬ 
ments is much diluted, or such quantities of it could 
not be drank. Seldom did I see water put into it by 
those who used it, but it was generally taken as drawn 
from the cask. The spectacle presented at these places 
was dreadful. Old men and young men; old women 
and maidens; mothers with nursing children, and others 
with little boys and girls just beginning to walk; the 
young buck, and the old, worn-out, coatless wanderer, 
— all gathered in one den of infamy, to drain the cup of 
madness, and go forth deeper sunken and more terribly 
infuriated, to curse earth, poison domestic life, and ren¬ 
der home a hell on earth ! I know not but such scenes 
may be witnessed in the large cities of America, but I 
never found them. If they do exist among us, they 
are more concealed and covered up from the public 
gaze. In England, they live and thrive on the best 
streets, in the most public places, open as the day, 
and bright as lamplight and gaslight can make them. 
They constitute one of the dark pictures in England’s 
history, and stain the fair name of her people with 
blots of shame and crime. 


REFORM AND DEFORM — PEACE CONGRESS. 171 


XIV. 

REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 

The temperance cause in England is low, and few 
care to be associated with it. Wine and beer drinking 
are very common, and men in all professions seem to be 
as yet untaught in the principles of abstinence. I did 
not dine with friends, in any one instance which I now 
remember, in which wine was not on the table, and 
freely used by more or less present. The clergyman, 
as he enters and leaves his pulpit, deems it useful to 
sustain him ; and in this respect the congregation freely 
imitate him. Well do I remember the first time I 
preached in England: as I came down out of the pul¬ 
pit into the vestry in the rear, two deacons, one with a 
bottle and tumbler, and the other with a plate of crack¬ 
ers, met me, saying, “Ye’ll take a little, wont ye, 
brother E. \ ” The whole scene was so novel, and to 
me so unexpected, and withal so ludicrous, that I 
could not avoid an uncivil laugh, at the same time 
assuring them that I did not need the “ good creature.” 
They were surprised that a man whom they had hith¬ 
erto regarded as in his right mind should refuse a glass 
of wine. I attended several temperance meetings, and 
found them of an entirely different character from 
such gatherings in America. The teetotalers, as they 
are called, are to England what the rabid, hot-headed 
come-outers are to this country. Instead of working as 
temperance men have done among us, they are violent, 


172 


EUROPA. 


denunciatory, and rasli, dealing their blows alike among 
friends and foes. Whoever does not see the subject as 
they do, is blacked and lampooned without mercy. 
Thus good men keep aloof, and dare not trust them¬ 
selves in company with those who have more zeal than 
judgment, and who are ready to call down fire upon 
every head which does not wear the same distinctive 
badge with themselves. One meeting which I attended 
was taken up in trying to prove that Sabbath schools, 
as conducted in England, are promotive of crime; 
and statistics were introduced to show how large a 
proportion of criminals have ever been connected with 
these institutions. The impression made on my mind 
was, that temperance men must exhibit a more lovely 
spirit, ere their principles can prevail to any great 
extent. 

I think, also, that much of the anti-slavery of Eng¬ 
land is spurious. Englishmen are loud in their de¬ 
nunciation of our national sin, and almost every week 
the walls of Exeter Hall ring with some declamation 
upon the wrongs of American bondage. Well, it is 
bad enough, earth and heaven knows. No speech 
can set it forth in a more odious light than it de¬ 
serves. It is “ the sum of all villainies,” and no man 
has a right to defend it. But with the anti-slavery 
of England I have no patience. It often consists of 
a curious compound of national spleen and spite, 
prejudice and revenge. The speeches which are made 
upon the subject are generally in a taunting, bitter 
spirit, which no American, however strongly he may 
be disposed to oppose slavery, can but resent. The 
citizen of the States is expected, when he makes a 
speech, to cast some slur back upon his country ; and 
if he does not do it, he is not applauded. Ministers 


REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 173 


are treated with disrespect, and shut out of pulpits ; 
statesmen are vexed and plagued by remarks founded 
on an entire misapprehension of the condition of things 
in this country, and every means taken to lacerate the 
feelings of those who are here the sincere friends of 
freedom. A minister of London said to me one day, 
“ You will preach for me to-morrow, brother E., will 
you not?” “Yes, if you desire it.” “But under¬ 
stand,” he added, “ I invite you on condition that you 
have no love of the fugitive slave law, and no fellow¬ 
ship with those who have.” “ I shall not preach for 
you,” I replied, “ on any such conditions. You know 
me to be from a free state, and opposed to slavery;. and 
your ‘condition’ is a thrust at my country. I shall not 
preach for you.” He apologized and argued; but 1 
would not consent. Perhaps I exhibited some Yankee 
obstinacy; but I could not help it. I told him plainly 
that the flings at our nation come with ill grace from 
England, by whom the curse of slavery came upon us ; 
from England, whose colonies we were when it was 
introduced; by whom, for years, until it became too 
strong to be managed, it was sustained ; a nation whose 
hands are scarcely washed from its stains, and whose 
suffering poor are calling for redress in vain. 

One night, I attended an anti-slavery meeting in 
Freemasons’ Hall. Several speakers were introduced, 
all of whom came down upon America with a ven¬ 
geance. One of the speakers asked, “ What can Brit¬ 
ons do to alleviate the woes of slaves in the States 1 ” 
When he had taken his seat, Horace Greeley was intro¬ 
duced, who w^ent into the subject in a fine style. In a 
very deliberate manner, and yet in a way that they could 
not misunderstand, he told them to be consistent, re¬ 
dress the wrongs of their own suffering poor, and come 


174 


EUROPA. 


up to the true idea of liberty, and our people would 
soon follow the example. It was very amusing to wit¬ 
ness the effect upon the assembly. Those composing it 
were too polite to retire or hiss, but a freemason sitting 
on a hot gridiron could not have been more uneasy 
than most of them. 

Almost every negro who goes from this country is 
caught up, hugged with desperation, and almost loved 
to death. If he can show a scar on his hack, his for¬ 
tune is made; and if he can tell a few vulgar, silly 
stories, he is a wonder of wonders. I would give 
a negro his due. If he has intellect, goodness, and 
piety, I would so far respect him, and treat him as 
kindly as I would a white man under similar circum¬ 
stances. But the idea of catching up a negro simply 
because he is a negro, and thrusting him into the 
pulpit, and on the platform, where a white man, with 
equal ability and goodness, would not be allowed to 
stand, is a great piece of folly, which the English just 
now are desirous of committing to any extent. On 
the very evening on which I arrived in London, I at¬ 
tended a monstrous Sabbath school meeting, at which 
were present about five thousand Sabbath school teach¬ 
ers, who were admitted by ticket. Several excellent 
speeches were made, when an old man got up and went 
into the slavery question. On the platform was a 
negro who has been wandering over this country, every 
where received with kindness, and admitted to pulpits 
into which he never could have entered if he had been 
a white man, with no more ability. The old man, — 
whom I understood to be Rev. John Burnet, — after 
introducing himself in some incoherent and inconsist¬ 
ent remarks, turned round, and began to address him¬ 
self to this negro. He congratulated him upon the 


REFORM AND DEFORM—PEACE CONGRESS. 175 

fact that lie was no copper-color, half-and-half man, — 
I use his very words, — but* a real jet black. Thus 
applauding him, he shook him by the hand, and flung 
up his arms, and cried, “ England and Africa forev¬ 
er ! ” No child who had received a new toy could be 
more pleased than was this aged minister in having a 
negro to pet and flatter. And the whole congregation 
enjoyed it much. It gave them an admirable opportu¬ 
nity to vent their spleen at our country, and they could 
not resist the temptation to improve it. 

At the close of the meeting, this negro was called 
upon to speak. He arose completely intoxicated with 
the praise he had received. The poor fellow scarcely 
knew which way to turn, or how to act, and his whole 
speech was one of the most ridiculous harangues I ever 
heard. He informed the audience, what they sincerely 
desired to hear, that there was no liberty, and not a 
single freeman, in America. To one who was a stran¬ 
ger to our institutions, he would have given the impres¬ 
sion that we were a nation whose only product was the 
bowie-knife, and whose only glory was human slavery. 
But he could not long refrain from speaking of himself, 
even to abuse our country; and he began to eulogize 
his own career, and exult in the favor which he had 
received from the people of England. “Why,” said 
he, “when the reverend gentleman took me by the 
hand, my heart swelled up as big as a good fat ox.” 
Thus he continued some fifteen minutes in a strain of 
foolishness and abuse, which was received by one of 
the finest audiences ever collected in the world with 
shouts of approbation. While relating some fact con¬ 
nected with his past experience, he wished to mention 
something which he said to his wife. “ Says I, moth¬ 
er— ” Then checking himself, he remarked, “ When 


176 


EURO PA. 


we wish to speak to our wives in my country, we say 
4 mother ; ’ and I adopted this language, not that I did 
not love her enough to say 4 my dear,’ as you do here, 
but it is a way we have, you know.” 

The speech of which the above is a specimen closed 
with the following poetical effusion: — 

“ Honor to the brave, 

Freedom to the slave, 

Success to British liberty, 

And God bless Queen Victoria.” 

I introduce this account not to ridicule the negro, 
but to show that British anti-slavery, instead of being 
a pure desire to give freedom to the enslaved and lib¬ 
erty to the oppressed, is mixed up with a very large 
preponderance of national prejudice and spleen, which 
finds vent through this channel; and an Exeter Hall 
audience will put up with and rapturously applaud 
any speech, and reprint it with every token of admira¬ 
tion and approbation, however destitute it may be of 
wit and common sense, if it only gives an occasion for 
John Bull to 44 put his flippers into the peepers” of 
Brother Jonathan, as the young man classically re¬ 
marked to me in the gin palace. 

There is one great barrier to all reform in England, 
and that is the unhallowed caste which exists between 

i 

the two extremes of society. I was reminded every 
day, while I was in England, of the caste of color 
which exists in America, and which Englishmen appear 
to view, and which, indeed, every man should view, 
with feelings of righteous abhorrence. But the caste 
of rank and wealth is as broad, and deep, and destruc¬ 
tive as is the caste of color here. An English noble¬ 
man would have his daughter associate with, or unite 


REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 177 

herself in marriage to, a servant or a poor mechanic 
no more than would an aristocratic merchant in Boston 
marry his daughter to a negro, or allow his son to bring 
home as his betrothed one a negress. Sometimes, in¬ 
deed, an impoverished lord marries his beggared daugh¬ 
ter to the son of a rich merchant, thus exchanging title, 
and rank, and birth, and blood for money; but other 
than this an alliance is seldom made ; and many a noble 
would have his daughter led to the altar by a proud, 
dissolute, broken-down son of a duke, rather than by 
an industrious, well-disposed, and honest laborer. Mar¬ 
riage is a thing of fashion, and woman is sacrificed to 
retain a sounding name and an empty title. 

The reforms of England are generally carried on 
with a great many useless appendages. The public 
meetings are often boisterous in the extreme. In 
all the Sabbath school, temperance, and anti-slavery 
meetings which I attended, I thought the speakers 
aimed to raise a laugh, and, with a few exceptions, 
formed their speeches so as to draw applause from the 
congregation. The great Sabbath school meeting to 
which I have referred was more noisy, with stamping, 
shouting, and clapping, than any political caucus which 
I ever attended. Missionary, Sabbath school, and the 
various reform societies have frequent tea parties and 
social gatherings, and almost every public effort is pre¬ 
ceded by one of these religious frolicks. One evening, I 
was invited to attend a meeting of ministers, which had 
convened to discuss the question, “ How may religious 
prosperity be promoted in our churches'?” A large 
number of the servants of God were present, and, for 
an hour, one of the most thrillingly-interesting reli¬ 
gious meetings which I ever attended was held; but, at 
a given time, the doors were thrown open, and servants, 

23 


178 


EUROPA. 


bearing refreshments, entered, and “ religious prosper¬ 
ity ” and all the sacred themes connected with it were 
forgotten, while the company gave themselves to mirth 
and social enjoyment. And we have much reason to 
fear that this disposition to “ frolick ” is becoming a 
too prominent element in the labor to do good in this 
country. If temperance, liberty, and religion are to 
be advanced only as far as they are connected with 
picnics, fairs, and frolicks, we may fear that they will 
not be carried on to any good advantage. If men are 
to be drawn into them only for the sport and fun which 
they give, they are sure to rest on an unsubstantial 
basis. 

But I regard as the great obstacle in the way of 
reform in England, the union between the church and 
the state, which cripples and weakens all the moral 
energy of the kingdom, and upholds a thousand tot¬ 
tering abuses which but for it would fall before the 
increasing light. The caste of rank and birth could 
not long exist after the union between a corrupt church 
and the government was dissolved. And the day when 
this union will be abolished, ay, and the very throne 
itself, is not far distant. The dissenters of England 
have become a great and influential body, and are 
clamoring for redress. And they will agitate the sub¬ 
ject until the church rates, which every man in the 
kingdom is required to pay to support the church of 
England, whether he attend that church or not, are 
abolished, and the dissenting denominations placed up¬ 
on the same level with the establishment. When this 
day comes, the reforms will grow strong and mighty; 
and when the people are allowed to spend their money 
to support what religion they choose, the church of 
England, which now impedes the progress of reforma- 


REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 179 

tion, will be shorn of its power, and the dissenting 
chapels will send forth their streams of holy influence 
to gladden the nation. 

The last few days spent in London, after my return 
from the continent, were engrossed by the doings of 
the Universal Peace Congress, which held its session in 
Exeter Hall. At an early hour on the first day, I 
secured a seat upon the platform, more anxious to see 
the people than participate in the deliberations of the 
congress. The number of delegates present from sev¬ 
eral different nations was quite large ; and very soon 
after the delegates who were admitted by tickets were 
seated, the hall was completely filled by the populace. 

After a hasty organization of the congress, a half 
hour was spent in silent prayer. The scene was pro¬ 
foundly grand. That immense mass of heads, all 
bowed in prayer to God, was awfully eloquent; and 
though vocal, audible prayer was omitted to please 
that most illiberal of all the sects who ever pretended 
to liberality, — the Quakers, — yet I think no human 
speech could have equaled the silent breathings of that 
vast assembly. 

The well-known philosopher, Sir David Brewster, 
was chairman, and gave an opening speech, in which 
beautiful reference was made to the Crystal Palace, 
surmounted by flags of all nations, untom by fire 
and unstained with blood—the temple of peace and 
industry. 

This congress gave me a fine opportunity to see and 
hear the distinguished men which it brought together. 
The most famous speech was that of Richard Cobden, 
the noted corn-law orator. He is a man in middle life, 
and makes a very effective speech ; and bis was almost 


180 


EUBOPA. 


the only address I heard while in England, from an 
Englishman, which did not go out of its way to com¬ 
pliment that nation at the expense of others. He is 
not an eloquent man, but a very effective one, pouring 
out his facts in a continuous stream, until his auditors 
are convinced and overwhelmed. He contended that 
England had done more to maintain the war spirit than 
any other nation, and asked his English auditors to 
lay aside their prejudices, and divest themselves of the 
flattery which had been laid upon them of late, as with 
a trowel, and come home to the sober facts. Instead 
of setting a good example to other nations, England had 
been enlarging her own fortifications, and increasing 
her standing army. “ Why,” said he, “ where was the 
nation that had ever occupied so many and such stra¬ 
tegic positions on the surface of the globe ? They had 
fortified strong places, and garrisoned them all over the 
world, to such an extent, that, if a war ever should 
come between them and any other strong maritime 
power, the first step necessary fo be taken would be to 
blow up and abandon some of them. They had Gib¬ 
raltar, Malta, and Corfu, in the Mediterranean. Cross¬ 
ing the Isthmus of Suez, they had Aden. Then came 
the Mauritius, which was called the outwork of India. 
"Returning, they had a military position at the Cape. 
Crossing the Atlantic westward, they had the powerful 
fortress of Halifax, ready to meet all comers. Going 
from the continent, they came to the Island of Bermuda, 
where they were laying out enormous sums in fortifica¬ 
tions ; and it was but the other day that he had heard 
an argument to induce Parliament to keep up the forti¬ 
fications of Jamaica. He should also mention the 
fortifications of Quebec, which was called the Gibraltar 
of Canada.” 


[THE TOWER OF 1L©^JD)©S'. 






































REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 181 


From the position of the nation abroad, he looked at 
its state at home ; and here the same hostile, aggressive 
appearance was seen. He had learnt, in his capacity 
as a member of a committee of the House of Com- 
mons, that in a time of profound peace, and under 
many protestations of a pacific policy, England “ has 
six millions of pounds’ worth of warlike stores ; a hun¬ 
dred line-of-battlc ships afloat or on the stocks; be¬ 
tween ten thousand and thirty thousand pieces of 
cannon ; thirty millions of musket ball cartridges ; one 
hundred and forty thousand pikes; twelve hundred 
thousand sand-bags ready for use in their fortifications; 
in short, that they were armed in every point, and ready 
to enter upon a gigantic scheme of warlike operations 
to-morrow.” 

Other able and eloquent speeches were made by Rev. 
J. A. James, W. Brock, Dr. Beaumont, of England, Dr. 
Beckwith, and Elihu Burritt, of America, Rev. .V. 
Coqucrell, son of the celebrated orator of Paris, M. 
Girardin, of u La Pressed several members of Parlia¬ 
ment, and distinguished strangers from the continent. 

Letters of adhesion were read from all parts of the 
world, and among others the following mystical, funny, 
absurd thing, from that most impudent and reckless 
of all men of letters, Thomas Carlyle: — 

•; " f f * i “ £ r» • : t 

Chelsea, 18th July, 1851. 

Sir : I fear I shall not be able to attend any of your 
meetings ; but, certainly, I can at once avow,, if, indeed, 
such avowal on the part of any sound-minded man be 
not a superfluous one, that I altogether approve your 
object, heartily wish it entire success, and even hold 
myself bound to do, by all opportunities that are open 
to me, whatever T can towards forwarding the same. 

F 



182 


EUROPA. 


How otherwise ? “ If it be possible, as much as in you 

lies, study to live at peace with all men. ” This, sure 
enough, is the perpetual law for every man, both in his 
individual and his social capacity; nor in any capacity 
or character whatsoever is he permitted to neglect this 
law, but must follow it, and do what he can to see it 
followed. Clearly, beyond question, whatsoever be our 
theories about human nature, and its capabilities and 
outlooks, the less war and cutting of throats we have 
among us, it will be the better for us all! One re¬ 
joices much to see that immeasurable tendencies of this 
time are already pointing towards the result you aim 
at; that, to all appearance, as men no longer wear 
swords in the streets, so neither, by and by, will na¬ 
tions ; that among nations, too, the sanguinary ultima 
ratio will, as it has done among individuals, become 
rarer and rarer; and the tragedy of fighting, if it can 
never altogether disappear, will reduce itself more and 
more strictly to a minimum in our affairs. Towards 
this result, as I said, all men are at all times bound to 
cooperate; and, indeed, consciously or unconsciously, 
every well-behaved person in this world may be said to 
•be daily and hourly cooperating towards it, especially 
in these times of banking, railwaying, printing, and 
penny posting ; when every man’s traffickings and 
laborings, and whatever industry he honestly and not 
dishonestly follows, do all very directly tend, whether 
he knows it or not, towards this good object among 
others. 

I will say, further, what appears very evident to me, 
that if any body of citizens, from one, or especially from 
various countries, see good to meet together, and artic¬ 
ulate, reiterate these or the like considerations, and 
strive to make them known and familiar, the world in 


REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 183 

general, so soon as it can sum up the account, may 
rather hold itself indebted to them for so doing. They 
are in the happy case of giving some little furtherance 
to their cause by such meetings, and (what is somewhat 
peculiar) of not retarding it thereby on any side at all. 
If they be accused of doing little good, they can answer 
confidently that the little good they do is quite unal¬ 
loyed, that they do no evil whatever. The evil of their 
enterprise, if evil there be, is to themselves only; the 
good of it goes wholly to the world’s account without 
any admixture of evil; for which unalloyed benefit, 
however small it be, the world surely ought, as I now 
do, to thank them rather than otherwise. 

One big battle saved to Europe will cover the ex¬ 
pense of many meetings. How many meetings would 
one expedition to Russia cover the expense of? Truly 
I wish you all the speed possible; well convinced you 
will not too much extinguish the wrath that dwells as 
a natural element in all Adam’s posterity; and I beg 
to subscribe myself, sir, yours very sincerely, 

T. Carlyle. 

Henry Richard, Esq., Secretary , &c., &c. 

The eminent French statesman, Victor Hugo, sent 
the following epistle, excusing his absence: — 

From the National Assembly, July 18, 1851. 

Sir : I write to you in the midst of our arduous 
struggles; imperative public duties retain me in Paris. 
You know what they are, and you will understand, 
certainly, why I cannot quit my post at such a moment, 
even to join you. 

If we owe a debt to ideas, we owe the first debt to 
our country. It is for my country I am combating 


now. 


184 


EUROPA. 


It is also for ideas; for all ideas and all progress 
tend towards the one great fact which will invade the 
entire civilized world through the republic — the re¬ 
public, which will bring forth the united states of 
Europe, a universal federation, and, consequently, uni¬ 
versal peace. Our present struggles are fruitful; they 
will be productive of future peace. 

Allow me to terminate with this word; a word 

» .J'f 

which is in my heart, and in yours, all of you; and in 
the heart of France too: — 

i 

r ? i 1 f i r 4 . Jr * 

tz $** r;r.~ * r y r :?r i 

“ Glory and happiness to free England.” 


Express my regret to all our friends of the Peace 
Congress, and receive the fraternal expression of my 
cordiality. 

Victor Hugo. 


There were great men present at that congress, and 
great speeches made by them, and yet I cannot resist 
the conviction that the meeting was a failure. I would 
not wish to think so. I went out with the credentials 
of a delegate. I lost the opportunity of visiting Scot¬ 
land in order to attend its sittings; but I fear that the 
whole effort will amount to nothing, and that wars and 
rumors of wars will be heard until deeper principles 


shall be disseminated than any contained in the resolu¬ 
tions of that congress. I observed also that a large 
majority of the most active men in this meeting were 


of the class best designated as “ Impracticables ” — men 
who have large hearts and good intentions, but who 
have no practical common sense. 

There are some men, who, if they should meet a bear 
in the road, would address him in a most finished style, 
and present a most logical argument, while Bruin 


REFORM AND DEFORM —PEACE CONGRESS. 185 

would smack his lips for blood. Warriors and rulers 
care no more for the resolutions of peace conventions 
than a bear would for an argument. The cause of 
peace never will prevail until nations are made to see 
that war gives such weight to their taxes; until, in 
nations where the elective franchise is enjoyed, the 
friends of peace make themselves felt at the polls; 
until every man who enlists in an army is made to feel 
that his business is one of murder; until military titles 
are made odious and disgraceful; until standing armies 
are abolished ; indeed, until Immanuel, the “ Prince of 
Peace,” sets up his kingdom among the nations. 

We now leave England, the home of our fathers, and 
cross over to the continent. In succeeding chapters, we 
shall pursue our way from London to Dover, at which 
place we shall embark for sunny France — for gay, 
glittering Paris. I have written more than I originally 
intended upon England, and even now feel that I have 
done little justice to the subjects discussed. I have 
given an idea of the things which I have seen, and the 
impression they made upon my mind. These impres¬ 
sions may be, and doubtless are, in some instances, 
incorrect, as it cannot be supposed that a stranger, 
spending a few weeks in a country, should see every 
thing, or in all cases judge correctly of what he did see. 
I used my time, feet, and eyes to the best advantage, 
and if I have misjudged, why, there it is. 

24 p* 


» 


t 


186 


4% , i'f -t ? 

• - V 

EUROPA. 


XV. 


LONDON TO PARIS. 

i ' ; ... - * V r i ; > V* '■ :i ■■ : 

We started from London on the South-western Rail¬ 
way, one morning just as the sun was clearing away the 
mist which hung over the metropolis. It was pleasant, 
after being shut up for weeks in the city, to get out 
into the clear atmosphere of the country, where the 
green fields and fresh breezes seemed more delicious 
than ever. 

“ Adieu, the city’s ceaseless hum ! 

The haunts of sensual life, adieu ! 

Green fields and silent glens, we come 

To spend this bright spring day with you.” 

The car in which we rode was an uncushioned lum¬ 
ber box, scarcely as good as our baggage cars, and in¬ 
habited by several Irish people, with crying babies, 
market women, and some well-disposed country folks, 
from whom we derived much valuable information. 
The country through which we rode was not as fine as 
that in some other portions of England; and as we 
passed along, few objects of interest presented them¬ 
selves. 

We arrived at Dover, after a ride of four hours, and 
commenced at once an examination of the town. It 
proved to be hardly what I expected, and I soon dis¬ 
covered that a few hours would make us well enough 
acquainted with it. The principal object of interest is 



LONDON TO PARIS. 


187 


an old, dilapidated castle on the higlits. As we went 
climbing up the steep ascent, a tinkling bell sounded 
at our side, and on looking around, we saw a large box, 
with “ Remember the poor debtor ” inscribed upon it. 
Over it was the bell, which connected by a string with 
the cell of the debtor, who, as he saw the stranger 
passing the box, would call his attention to it by ring¬ 
ing the bell. On the higlits which command the 
harbor and channel is the famous cannon known as 

> *• ui . • ? 1* V ? * s » • * i 

“ Queen Elizabeth’s Pocket-piece,” and which was given 
by that queen to the garrison. It bears the date of 
1544, is twenty-four feet long, and is now so corroded 
as to be untit for use. We looked in vain for the 
inscription which we always supposed was upon it: — 


“ Scour me bright and keep me clean, 

And I’ll send a ball to Calais green.” 

The old fort is governed by a company of dull uni¬ 
formed soldiers, who were very civil to us. They live a 
life of lazy inactivity, deriving their support from the 
hard-earned wages of the poor. At the foot of the 
hill, and along the shore, was spread out the little 
town, which seemed to give very few signs of life and 
industry. 

At three o’clock we took a little steamer for Calais, 
leaving behind us the white cliffs of Dover, and all we 
had seen of merry England: The passage across the 
channel was performed in about two hours. The day 
was a delightful one, and the channel gave none of its 
usual signs of commotion, and we went skipping on,— 

“ O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 

Our thoughts as boundless, and our homes as free; 

Far as the breeze can bear the billows’ foam, 

Behold our empire and survey our home ! ” 




188 


EUROPA. 


On arriving at Calais, we found the cars ready for 
Paris, and we entered them and were soon on our way. 
Of Calais I have no impression. I did not remain 
there long enough to get a single idea of the place. 
All I know is, that for the first time I was in a country 
where I could understand scarcely any of the language, 
and where the orders of the custom-house officers, and 
the yells of the cabmen, and the shouts of the porters, 
were all as unintelligible as the diction of the moon. 
It was a relief to get into the cars, out of the way of 
officious and meddling hangers-on, who, seeing our 
greenness, gave us any quantity of unsought advice, for 
which we did not even thank them ; though one man, 
who showed us where we could purchase our tickets, 
demanded a franc as his fee , which we paid, as the 
shortest way of getting rid of him. The country to 
Paris is very fine, but indifferently cultivated. The 
farms around were unfenced, and the residences of the 
tenants were very poor, many of them being built of 
mud, and thatched with straw. The unusual sights 
gave evidence that we were on foreign soil; and the 
constant jabbering of the Frenchmen who were with 
us in the car, and whose speech was as unintelligible 
to us as ours was to them, kept us constantly aware 
that we were out of the province of good round Saxon 
speech, and good wholesome Saxon habits. 

The cars in France are much better, and the expense 
of traveling less, than in England. The second-class 
cars on the continent are nearly equal to the first in 
Britain, and the first class are fitted up in a style of 
surpassing elegance. Our fellow-passengers were very 
civil and well-disposed persons, but had on most disa¬ 
greeable beards, as black as your boot, and almost as 
long, and all the way to Paris kept up a continual 


LONDON TO PARIS. 


189 


smoking of the worst cigars a non-smoking traveler 
ever had to endure. 

On getting out of the cars at a station on the way, 
I tried to purchase some refreshments, hut found the 
keepers knew as little of English as I did of French, 
and, for a while, the prospect of securing a supper 
seemed dark; but I at length laid hold of what ap¬ 
peared to be a nice pie, and, as I could not understand 
the price, pulled from my pocket all the change I had, 
and allowed the damsel in charge to take as much as 
she chose. But on seating myself in the cars, and 
opening my pie, I found it to contain nothing but a 
sausage. I had not learnt to love French cooking 

and this roll of meat, done up in so suspicious a man- 

- ; 

ner, brought to my mind all the stories I had ever heard 
of the delightful manner in which French cooks serve 
up dogs, cats, and babies, so that the most experienced 
will hardly distinguish them from the choicest dishes 
ever craved by the appetite of the epicure; and some 
one very kindly began to tell the story of a distin¬ 
guished American, who, in China, sat down to a sump¬ 
tuous feast, and ate voraciously of a delicate dish which 
was set before him. When his dainty meal was fin- 
ished, and he sat wondering what the food could be 
which had tempted his appetite to such an extent, a 
servant entered, and, wishing to have his curiosity grat- 

; . j * 1 * } 

ified, and yet being entirely unacquainted with the lan¬ 
guage, he pointed to the dish, and said, “ Quack, quack,” 
meaning to ask if it was duck. The servant replied, 
“ Bow wow, bow wow,” intimating that the delicious 

’ . ■ i > ! .1 • ° ’ • ‘ • • i l ‘’if 

food was not duck, but dog. My roll was thrown out 
of the window, to the great astonishment of the French- 
man, who seemed not to comprehend my motive, and to 
be shocked at my waste. 


n 


190 


EUROPA. 


XVI. 

VIEW OF PARIS —CHURCHES —CHAPELS. 

We reached Paris about midnight, and fell at once 
into the hands of custom-house officials, who rummaged 
our baggage to find what valuable goods we had stored 
away among our dirty linen, wherewith to defraud the 
great and glorious French nation out of the revenue 
due its not too well-filled purse. At length, getting 
clear, we went to one hotel; but it was full, and we 
started for another, and at length drew up at Hotel de 
Paris, and, after considerable noise, aroused somebody 
who answered to the call of landlord. There were but 
two or three spare apartments, and there were some five 
or six to occupy them; and a contest ensued as to who 
should sleep, and who should keep watch. At length, 
the landlord decided the case by taking several of us 
up over one, two, three, four — I know not how many 
flights of stone stairs, higher than I was ever up before, 
and higher than I have ever been since, into a room 
with a stone floor, cheerless as a tomb, and so far above 
terrestrial objects, that it became a matter of some 
speculation whether we should ever get down again. 

The next morning, the sun arose clear and beautiful, 
so different from the damp, wet, cold fogs of London, 
that we soon forgot the perplexities of the night. We 
found private lodgings at a moderate price, and, in a 
few hours, began our rambles over the city. I knew 
that Paris was a gay, beautiful city ; but my expectations 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 


191 


were far more than realized. The half had not been 
told me of its fine streets, well-filled, showy stores, and 
its aristocratic residences. Every thing seemed as gay 
as the lark and beautiful as the butterfly. 

The people of Paris are less robust and noble than 
the English. The men are generally small in stature, 
active, and industrious. The women are less finely 
formed, but have, as a general thing, more personal 
charms than their neighbors on the other side of the 
channel. The style of dress is more rich and gay. 
The men pay far more attention to a well-cut coat, a 
genteel hat, and a finely-polished boot, than the men 
of any other nation I have seen. I should judge that 
American fashions were half way between the slouchy 
rig of the English and the extreme of fashion seen 
among the French. The women dress more gay and 
showy than on the other shore, and seem to have a 
fondness for light, airy fabrics, and high and dazzling 
figures and colors. About half the women seen in the 
streets were destitute of bonnets, and wore, instead, a 
neat, pretty muslin cap. The stores on the street were 
more attractively adorned, and the goods were displayed 
more advantageously, than in London, and the whole 
appearance of the place had an aspect of cheerfulness. 

The streets of Paris are wide, and kept perfectly 
clean. The Boulevards — formerly the foundations of 
the city wall, which has now been taken down and 
outbuilt — run all round the city, and form the most 
spacious broadways in the* world. Holborn and Fleet 
Street do not compare with them for wealth, cleanli¬ 
ness, gayety, and splendor, and the stranger soon finds 
himself compelled to give expression to his admiration 
in the most enthusiastic language. 

What the parks are to London, the public squares, 


EUKOPA. 

>;t '■} > i ~ 


192 

I 

or “ places,” as they are called, which are generally or¬ 
namented with fountains or columns, are to Paris. Of 

• - 

the “ places ” and columns, there are several of much 
• r . _ , 
interest. The Place Yendome is an octagonal space m 

which is the triumphal pillar erected by Napoleon to 
commemorate his German victories. The shaft is of 
stone, and covered with bronze bass-reliefs formed en¬ 
tirely of cannon taken in the battles of the conqueror. 
The bass-reliefs are spiral, and display the most noted 
events in the German campaigns. On the summit stands 
the bronze figure of Napoleon himself, who is looking 
out from his dizzy elevation upon the passing multi¬ 
tudes below. It is an imitation of the Trajan pillar at 
Pome, and surpasses it in grandeur, and in the heroism 
of the deeds which it commemorates. 

In front of the Tuilcries is the Place de la Concorde, 
ornamented with beautiful fountains which play cease¬ 
lessly, and in the center of which rises the Luxor Obe¬ 
lisk, an Egyptian shaft, at least three thousand years 
old, and which is covered with unread Egyptian char¬ 
acters. It was brought from Egypt during the reign 
of Louis Philippe. On the base are engravings and 
diagrams of the machine by which it was raised to its 
present elevation. It is said that the engineer who had 
charge of the work felt the most extreme solicitude as 
to his success; and as thousands gathered to see the 
obelisk rise to its position, he moved among them with 
a charged pistol protruding from his vest, with which 
he had determined to commit suicide, if, by any acci¬ 
dent, he should fail in his attempt. The obelisk stands 
where the guillotine stood in the time of the revolu¬ 
tion, and where the wretched Louis XYI. and Marie 
Antoinette, and their unfortunate friends, met a dread¬ 
ful fate. 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAFELS. 


198 


In the Place de la Bastille is a pillar of bronze, com¬ 
memorating the revolution of 1830. It stands where 
once the Bastille, that famous old prison, which, for 
centuries, had been the awe of freemen, reared its front. 
When, in the indignant anarchy of the French popu¬ 
lace, that structure was demolished, and a stone of it was 
sent to every town in the nation, this beautiful column 
arose in its place. It is covered with the names of 
those who fell in the tumult of 1830, and in the base 
is kept their bones and dust, A spiral staircase of two 
hundred and ten steps winds to the summit, on which 
stands a figure of Liberty. The shaft towers to the 
hight of several hundred feet, and commands an exten¬ 
sive view of the city and surrounding country. 

These various columns give great beauty to the city, 
and are far superior to the monuments in London. 
They all have some great historic interest, and com¬ 
memorate events which are interwoven with the most 
terrible scenes in the history of the nation. On these 
monuments, and on all the palaces, churches, and pub¬ 
lic buildings of Paris, are the words which compose 
the great national lie — “ Liberte, Egalite , Fratemite .” 
No sentiment could contain a greater falsehood. The 
French have less true, genuine liberty than under the 
reign of the Bourbons. There are more slaves to-day, 
in France, under Louis Napoleon, than there were un¬ 
der Louis Philippe. Liberty means universal license; 
equality consists in universal want, an equality in deg¬ 
radation ; fraternity means a brotherhood of anarchists, 
such as, years ago, shouted along the streets of Paris, 
with trunkless heads on gory pikes. The French re¬ 
public is a military despotism. The streets of Paris 
are full of soldiers, dressed in uncomely uniform, who 
march through the crowded streets, and across the 

25 Q 


194 


EUROPA. 


pleasure grounds, to overawe the people. The bayonet, 
and not the ballot-box, rules; and Louis XVI. was no 
greater tyrant than is Louis Xapoleon. I do not see 
how we can cherish for a moment any hope of the per¬ 
manence of the French government. All the glory is 
in the name, while the people cannot appreciate, do not 
desire, and have not a genuine republic. There are 
said to be one hundred thousand soldiers within call of 
the president, and present appearances seem to indicate 
that he will soon have need of them. 

A trait in the French character is seen in the cafes , 
or drinking establishments, of the metropolis. The 
Frenchman loves his coffee more than he does his wife, 
and often spends more time in the cafe than in the 
bosom of his family. In the Boulevards, at almost any 
hour of the day or evening, may be seen scores and 
hundreds of men and women sipping coffee and eating 
ices in the open street. In front of the saloon are 
found a large number of little tables, with one or two 
chairs to each, each occupied, while within and without 
the saloon are busy waiters, hurrying to and fro, to 
receive orders and supply the wants of their patrons. 
Sometimes little arbors, on the most frequented streets, 
are fitted up with hanging lamps; fountains abound, 
and cool retreats, and hither resort hundreds to eat, 
drink, and enjoy. The enchantments which art throws 
around these fairy spots render them the favorite resorts 
of men of all classes and conditions. The visitor must 
purchase some article, or pay two or three sous for the 
use of the chair and table. Thus the keepers make 
good livings, and are enabled to embellish their prem¬ 
ises in very gorgeous style. 

The lowest form of morals prevails in Paris to a 
great extent. The true idea of public virtue, in its 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 


195 


noblest sense, can scarcely be said to exist, and a thou¬ 
sand forms of evil stalk abroad without reproof. The 
marriage tie is easily broken, and the obligations of the 
marriage relations are hardly recognized. The young 
Parisian lady considers herself a slave, under the sur¬ 
veillance of her parents, until her marriage, when she 
enters into a state of uncontrolled liberty, her husband 
caring little for her affairs, and she attending but little 
to his interests. Immorality is sanctioned by law, and 
the corrupters of society are licensed by government. 
No small part of the public revenue is derived from 
this source; and pollution is a part of the system, as 
common school education is part of our system. Each 
infamous womp is licensed by the police as we license 
cabmen or auctioneers, and carries her certificate of 
shame and crime in her pocket. There is no public 
conscience in relation to vice. Young men and women 
who enter upon a career of crime seem to feel that 
they are doing no evil. In London, there is a public 
conscience, and a public voice, and a public shame; 
and every loose woman — and they meet you in the 
streets at night by scores and hundreds — bears on her 
countenance the wo-begone proof of her degradation. 
But in Paris, not a blush indicates that the most de¬ 
praved feels ashamed of her occupation, and crime 
wears the open countenance and fair cheek of inno¬ 
cence. There are less outside appearances of crime in 
Paris than in London, from the simple fact that in the 
latter city vice is branded, hated, and despised, while in 
the former city it is courted, patronized, and defended. 
Infanticide prevails to a fearful extent, and hundreds 
of infants every year are destroyed by unnatural moth¬ 
ers. Almost every day the Seine sweeps some infant 
body down out of the sight of those who gave it being. 


196 


EUROPA. 


An almost incredible number of children are found and 
taken to the foundling hospitals. In former times, 
connected with these hospitals was an open box in the 
wall, into which the mother could come at night, un¬ 
seen, and put her babe. As she rung a bell near by, 
the box was drawn in, and the child taken out, and the 
name of the person who put it there remained entirely 
unknown. In 1833, this box was abandoned, since 
which time infanticide has very largely increased, while 
the number of children born out of wedlock has in no 
way diminished. Other fearful facts might be given, 
corroborating the dreadful prevalence of immorality 
and crime; but I forbear. 

Paris is well supplied with hospitals and asylums for 
the poor, the blind, aged ecclesiastics, foundlings, and 
orphans. The attendance and nursing in these charita¬ 
ble institutions are performed generally by the nuns of 
the various convents, of which there are about thirty 
in the city. The sisters of St. Vincent de Paul are 
much admired for their devotion to the sick and the 
poor. They number about five hundred, and are al¬ 
ways employed in works of love and charity, if we may 
believe Catholic testimony on the subject. I can see 
how, in a great city like Paris, a convent may be a use¬ 
ful institution, and, while there, learnt to look upon 
these sisters of charity with less disgust than formerly; 
and yet convents may be, and are generally, made tre¬ 
mendous engines of evil. Professedly open to public 
inspection, .they are, in fact, closed to all investigation, 
and none but the priests of a corrupt church see be-' 
hind the veil. What horrid crimes are committed in 
them, what persons are confined there, what revolting 
excesses indulged under their sanctity, the busy world 
outside knows not; and, doubtless, many a convent and 


VIEW OF PARIS —CHURCHES —CHAPELS. 


197 


monastery on the continent has witnessed scenes such 
as outshine the crimes which have been perpetrated in 
the Tower of London and the old Bastille. 

The population of Paris is about eleven hundred 
thousand seven hundred and sixty-seven, and this is 
steadily increasing. The city is built on both sides of 
the Seine, which, like the Thames, is spanned by several 
noble bridges, across which a tide of life is continually 
sweeping. There seems in Paris to he an activity, a 
rapidity of movement, which can scarcely he said to be 
the character of any other nation. The people walk 
faster, talk faster, eat bister, ride faster, and live faster, 
in all respects, than do their English neighbors. The 
English love the past, and protest against the removal 
of the ancient landmarks ; the French love change, 
and pant for revolutions, and find enjoyment in scenes 
of disorder and confusion. The English love law, 
and are strong advocates for order and propriety; 
the French have little respect for law, and execute 
kings with as little hesitancy as they do traitors. 
The English love precedent; the French love inno¬ 
vation. 

That there is no love of law, no domestic virtue, no 
public honor, is not true. But that these are not na¬ 
tional characteristics, we may judge from the successive 
revolutions, the murder and banishment of successive 
monarchs, the license given to crime, and the over¬ 
whelming influence of might irrespective of right. 

There exists among the French the deepest and most 
inveterate hatred towards the English, these two na¬ 
tions seeming to consider themselves “natural enemies” 
This hatred arises from the rival position of the two 
countries, and from the dreadful wars in which blood 
has been shed, the stains of which are not yet washed 

Q* 


198 


EUROPA. 


out. The monuments, triumphal arches, and pillars are 
commemorative, to a considerable extent, of victories 
obtained over each other, and the military idols of each 
nation — Bonaparte on the one side, and Wellington on 
the other — obtained victories, each, which the other 
could look upon only with rage. If you mention the 
word “Waterloo” to the boys in the streets of Paris, 
they will grit their teeth, clinch their fists, and tell you 
that the time is not far distant when that stain will he 
blotted out, and the injured honor of France vindicated. 
This feeling, I was assured, is prevalent in the French 
army, the regiments of which want some employment, 
and, doubtless, throat-cutting would be the most agree¬ 
able. Victor Hugo may poetize in the chamber of 
deputies, and Richard Cobden may declaim in the 
House of Commons, and peace conventions may be 
held every month in Exeter Hall; but while this na¬ 
tional prejudice exists, the stream of blood will not be 
stayed. And this prejudice is increased by such rash 
speeches as are made at reformatory meetings in Lon¬ 
don, in which one nation is praised, lauded, and bespat¬ 
tered with compliments to the discredit of all others. 
England is a great nation, but she is not the only great 
nation. She has national crimes; nor is she the only 
nation whose banners are stained with guilt; and it 
becomes England, France, and America to treat each 
other with candor, forbearance, and justice. 

When the traveler lands in France, he begins to find 
the Catholic religion exerting an influence, and acting 
out itself. Though all religions are tolerated, this swal¬ 
lows up all others; and in the metropolis, a Catholic 
church is found in almost every street. The churches 
of London do not compare with them in cost, architect¬ 
ural beauty, and splendid adornments. In all that goes 


VIEW OF PARIS —CHURCHES —CHAPELS. 


199 


to make up outward show and dazzling beauty, the 
church edifices of Paris excel; and it is no wonder, 
when the poor, ignorant man enters one of them, that 
imagination steals away his judgment, and leads him to 
substitute the outward service for the internal love. 
The oldest church in Paris is 

NOTRE DAME, 

which stands on the site of an ancient Roman temple, 
and has resisted the assault of nearly ten centuries. It 
is one of the finest specimens of architectural taste I 
ever saw; but for the great purpose of worship, it is 
almost completely useless. Two towers surmount the 
structure, from which a fine view of Paris is obtained, 
in one of which is an enormous bell, weighing thirty-two 
thousand pounds, which sends out its iron tone like the 
voice of* a giant. Decay and neglect are written all 
around, and the fine edifice gives many evidences of the 
ruthless assaults of civil war. As we entered, a meanly- 
clad, dirty-faced ecclesiastic, with a brush, stood near. 
The brush he occasionally dipped in a basin of water, 
keeping it wet, that the faithful might use it to cross 
themselves as they came in. In many parts of the ca¬ 
thedral, men and women were bowing on the cold floor, 
mumbling over their prayers, and counting their beads. 
One has an irresistible feeling of religious veneration, 
as he stands beneath the arches of such a structure, 
where far above him the birds have built their nests, 
and the swallows are flying about with a mournful 
sound. In the chapels all around the church are paint¬ 
ings and statues, to commemorate distinguished events 
and personages. We were pointed to the very spot on 
the floor on which Napoleon stood, when he was mar¬ 
ried to Josephine by Pope Pius VII. Here, too, was 


200 


EUROPA. 


the very spot where he placed the crowns upon his own 
head and that of his imperial consort. In a marble 
vault in this cathedral lies the dead body of the late 
archbishop, who was unfortunately killed in the last 
revolution. He was an amiable man, and his fall was 
much lamented. When blood was flowing in the 
streets of Paris, he went out, regardless of his own 
safety, to stay the crimson tide. Wherever he was 
recognized his authority was respected, and he moved * 
from street to street, quelling the fury of the misguided 
populace. But at length, while climbing over a barri¬ 
cade in one of the streets, a random shot was fired 
which laid him low. Near his sarcophagus is a paint¬ 
ing representing his fall. Two or three citizens, who 
recognize his mild features, are endeavoring to restrain 
the wild passions of others, while intense sorrow is de¬ 
picted on their countenances. The whole scene is sub¬ 
lime and mournful in the extreme. Near by are two of 
the small bpnes of the back, and the ball which pene¬ 
trated between them into the spinal marrow. 

One of the tombs in this old edifice is decorated with 
a group of statuary of extraordinary origin. The wife 
of an Austrian nobleman had a singular dream. She 
saw her husband in a coffin, and engaged in a fearful 
struggle with embodied Death. He called for her to 
help him; but she was powerless, and the monster per¬ 
formed his work. She awoke, and her dream was over; 
but in a few days she learnt that, at the very hour of 
her sleep, her husband was accidentally killed. She had 
a group of statuary made to represent her dream ; and 
here it stands, to remind every beholder of his own 
conflict with the powers of death. 

At Notre Dame are kept the robes in which Na¬ 
poleon was crowned, and the ecclesiastical habits in 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 201 

which the pope was arrayed when the service was per¬ 
formed. The former is a sort of cape, or cloak, worked 
all over with gold cord and lace. The fabric is of rich 
crimson velvet, and a gorgeous affair. The latter is a 
habit of crimson velvet, richly worked in the usual form 
of religious vestments. Here, too, is the gold plate 
used at the sacraments which follow coronations, and a 
large number of religious dresses, upon which I gazed, 
wondering how John the Baptist would have looked 
arrayed in such, or what the people would have thought 
of Christ, had he been bedecked with such when he 
rode into Jerusalem. Should a priest 'walk through 
our streets in similar robes, the children would imagine 
him some crazy playactor who had broken away from 
the stage, and was wandering out to secure attention 
and draw patronage. The people would never suppose 
him to be a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. 
We cannot judge of men by dress, but when human 
beings array themselves like clowns or circus riders, 
common sense will find it hard to recognize in them 
the distinguishing features of the teachers of religion. 

As I walked about in this old cathedral, I began to 
dream. The past, the dreadful past, seemed to come 
rushing back. In imagination, I was in the National 
Convention. I saw the bishops and clergy with uncov¬ 
ered heads ascend the tribune, and abjure the religion 
of the Savior, and cast away with contempt the em¬ 
blems of their sacred office. I heard the hoarse voice 
of Hebert, declaring that God did not exist, and call¬ 
ing on all men to dethrone him. I saw a wanton 
prostitute led forward by a bishop, and introduced as 
the Goddess of Reason, and in my ear sounded a shout 
which seemed like that of rebel angels when they 
endeavored to overturn the throne of God. Out 

26 


202 


EUROPA. 


sweeps that throng from the Chamber of Deputies, 
across the Place de Revolution, by the Tuileries, on to 
the Church of Notre Dame. In the midst, in a splen¬ 
did chariot, rides the harlot, the goddess of blood- 
drunken France. They enter the church ; they throng 
its aisles, and fill its spacious nave. On the altar, the 
woman takes her seat, and her reign commences. 
Scenes of crime and shame are witnessed over the 
very ashes of the dead. The altar itself, from which 
the sacred articles have scarcely been removed, is made 
the theater of unbounded license. Lust and beauty 
reign where once grave old friars and sable monks 
chanted songs to God, and the very arches ring w r ith 
the sounds of vice and crime. Hell is let loose, and 
Death reigns in the very courts of life. My dream 
ends, and I awake only to hear a priest saying over his 
prayers before one of the altars, and find that Notre 
Dame is almost empty; that the Goddess of Reason 
has been dethroned, and the revolution lives only in 
the memory of the past. 

The next church to Avhich we pursue our way is 

THE MADELEINE, 

a costly and elegant structure, near the western termi¬ 
nation of the Boulevards. I have seen larger churches, 
hut I never saw one more gorgeous than this. It was 
commenced in 1796, and finished and dedicated during 
the reign of the late king. It is built in the Grecian 
style of architecture, and cost the immense sum of thir¬ 
teen million and seventy-nine thousand francs, or more 
than two million six hundred thousand dollars. It is 
three hundred and twenty-eight feet long, and one hun¬ 
dred and thirty-eight feet wide. It is surrounded 
by Corinthian pillars about fifty feet high and sixteen 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 203 

and a half in circumference. Colossal statues orna¬ 
ment the building without, and rich sculpture and 
elegant carving mark it as one of the most remarkable 
churches of France. On entering the church, a splen¬ 
dor dazzles and bewilders. The deep tones of the 
organ, the gold and glitter of the temple, the long 
train of priests, and the multitude of apparently de¬ 
vout worshipers, produce a profound impression upon 
the mind. Nothing can surpass the elegance and rich¬ 
ness of the whole interior, from the painted ceiling to 
the marble pavement, from the grand altar to the spa¬ 
cious vestibule. I frequently wandered into this church 
to attend the service, which is held every evening, and 
of which I could not understand a single intelligible 
sentence. Rich music and solemn chants, and some¬ 
times a short discourse, to which thousands listened 
with attention, filled up an hour which certainly might 
have been spent by many in a worse employment. And 
it is easy to see how the mind can be carried away, de¬ 
luded by the show and glitter of such a service. A 
religion which has its splendid temples and its peal¬ 
ing organs, its richly-wrought robes and its decorated 
priests, which utters its appeals to the passions and the 
imagination, has here erected its throne. Wealth, art, 
science, skill, labor, luxury, and taste have here con¬ 
spired to erect a temple which, untenanted, has power 
to excite wonder and create an impression of awe. 

THE PAXTHEON, 

a magnificent church, was built by money obtained by 
lottery, as, indeed, were many of the churches of Paris. 
This is one of the finest buildings in France, and is in 
imitation of its Itoman namesake, to some extent. The 
dome is richly painted, representing some kind of Popish 


204 


EUROPA. 


saint-worship, in which good spirits and bad figure 
in the same scene, and are portrayed according to the 
taste of the artist, who received one hundred thousand 
francs for his work. Underneath the church are the 
vaults, in which are deposited the dust of some of the 
most noted men of France. The bones of Rousseau 
and Voltaire are here — their mischief all done, and 
their specious errors all exploded. The famous Marat 
was entombed here; hut the hand of revolution dug 
up his bones, which were thrown into a common sewer; 
and thus disappeared all that death left of a man whose 
name carried terror to a trembling nation. From the 
dome, an extensive view of the city is obtained. The 
long streets, the thronged Boulevards, the fine churches, 
and the clustering dwellings are all spread out before 
the eye, forming a beautiful panorama, such as is sel¬ 
dom seen. 

Besides the above, there are many other Catholic 
churches, filled with pictures and images, and kept in 
repair at an immense cost, some of which are memora¬ 
ble as the scene of events which have been recorded in 
history. There are about forty-two thousand Catholic 
priests and bishops in France, with convents for the 
Trappists, Capuchins, Benedictines, and many others, 
who go about barefoot, or shod with sandals, like so 
many hermits, who have dehumanized themselves, and 
lost their manhood. There are several Protestant sects 
in Paris, of whom the Calvinists are the most numerous. 
This denomination has four or five places of worship, 
and about double the number of ministers. The min¬ 
isters are unlike in religious opinion, and preach in 
different churches every Sabbath. The people follow 
them from church to church, no one holding a seat, 
but securing the most agreeable situation he can. I 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 205 

went to the Oratoire, on one occasion, to hear the elo¬ 
quent M. Coquerel. The house was full, and those 
who could judge said the preacher delivered a very able 
discourse, which was doubtless the case; but the whole 
appearance of the man was painfully theatrical. The 
gestures and bearing of the distinguished divine I 
could hut contrast with* the appearance of one of his 
colleagues, Adolph Monod, whom I was fortunate to 
see and hear on another occasion. The latter is not so 
great an orator, but a more devout man ; has but little 
of the embellishments of imagination, hut much of the 
power of the cross of Christ. The rich and the noble, 
the brilliant and the gay, fill the Oratoire when M. 
Coqueril discourses ; the humble, the pious, and the 
good crowd the aisles when Monod holds up his cruci¬ 
fied Master. 

The English have a church in Paris; the Wesley- 
ans one in Rue de la Concorde, where, one Sabbath, 
I preached to a little company of about two hundred, 
of mixed French, English, and Americans. Under the 
present government of France, the people are allowed 
full religious liberty. The Protestant and Catholic 
enjoy equal privileges, and the discussion of religious 
truth is open to all who choose to engage in it. 

There are in Paris several interesting edifices, which, 
like the Pantheon, are not used for religious worship, 
but stand to commemorate some important events. One 
of these is the 


CHAPELLE EXPIATOIRE. 

On entering this chapel, all that is mournful in the 
history of a most unfortunate family is brought vividly 
to our recollection. When the French revolution had 
done its utmost, and the king and his noble queen, 

R 


6 


206 


EUROPA. 


whose only crime seemed to be that she was of the 
house of Austria, were carried to the guillotine, and 
inhumanly murdered, they were put into coarse coffins, 
and buried in a little cemetery belonging to the church 
of La Madaleine. On the records of that church is 
now a charge like this: “ For the coffin of the widow 
Capet , seven francs ; ” and this was the whole sum laid 
out for the interment of the gifted, beautiful, and high¬ 
born queen, whose word once made proud nobles trem¬ 
ble. With her husband, she was placed in an unlion- 
ored grave; and the ground w r as afterwards purchased 
by a stern royalist, who planted it as an orchard, that 
the traces of the graves might not lead to a discovery, 
fearing that, in some wild and terrible moment, the 
populace might dig up the bones, and insult even their 
decay. When monarchy w T as restored, the ground was 
purchased by government, and a neat chapel erected over 
the spot where the king and queen were interred. To 
this chapel thousands come to wonder at the violence 
which it commemorates. LTp to the present year, there 
has been one visitor whose heart must have bled at the 
very sight of its beautiful walls, and in memory of 
'the fate of those who were laid beneath it. I refer to 
the Duchess of Angouleme, who, during the present 
year, (1851,) has been called from earth. She was the 
daughter of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. At 
the time of the murder, she was but a child, and, with 
her brother, the dauphin, then only seven years old, 
was shut up in a dark and gloomy dungeon. The boy 
was soon let out to a brutal keeper, who had orders 
not to kill him, but to get rid of him. Hence every 
indignity was heaped upon him. For a whole year, 
his clothes were not changed; and for six months, his 
bed was not made. Under such treatment, the young 


VIEW OF PARIS — CHURCHES — CHAPELS. 


207 


prince wasted away, and died in June, 1795. Ilis sister 
survived, and was treated with brutal violence, until the 
Austrian government induced the French to give her 
up, in exchange for some prisoners of war; and she 
was taken to the court of Vienna, with a wasted frame 
and a broken heart. She has since passed through 
various changes, having been married, elevated, and a 
second time driven into banishment, until now she has 
found shelter in the grave. To her, this chapel, which 
marks the spot where her parents were buried, must 
have been an object of great interest; and, every year 
since, she has been furnished with a bouquet of flowers 
from the spot, over which she has wept and mused, 
until, entirely withered, she has cast them away. The 

CHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND 

is also an object of much interest. It was erected to 
commemorate the death of the Duke of Orleans, who 
came to an untimely end in 1842. Fie was out, riding 
in his carriage, when the horses became unmanageable ; 
and, in endeavoring to leap to the ground, his foot ivas 
entangled, and, being precipitated to the earth, his skull 
was fractured. He was taken and carried into a gro¬ 
cery on the spot where the chapel now stands. His 
father, Louis Philippe, and the other members of the 
royal family, were soon on the ground; but the unfor¬ 
tunate voung man died in a few hours after. The old 
grocery was taken down, and a chapel, dedicated to St. 
Ferdinand, was erected on the spot. The chapel has 
seats for about fifty persons, and is fifty feet long, built 
in Gothic style. Opposite the doorway is the altar, and 
over it a statue of the Virgin and Child. On the left 
side of the chapel is another altar. On the right is a 
beautiful group of statuary, representing the prince on 


208 


EUKOPA. 


his death bed, with an angel kneeling over him. This 
angel w r as the work of the Princess Marie, the deceased 
sister of the duke, who little dreamed that she was 
fashioning the marble for the monumental tomb of her 
brother. Behind the altar is the little room in which 
the prince died, remaining nearly as at that time. A 
few rough chairs, a confessional and crucifix, constitute 
the only furniture. On one side is a mournful picture 
representing the death scene as it actually occurred. 
The duke is stretched upon a bed, pale and bleeding. 
The king holds his hands, with a countenance full of 
the deepest grief; the queen and many of the nobles 
are looking on or weeping in the most abject sorrow ; 
while a robed priest, with a benign countenance, adds 
to the effect of the scene. 

The Duke of Orleans was very popular with the 
people, and had he been alive his father would hardly 
have been driven from his throne in the late revolu¬ 
tion ; or if this had been the case, his son would have 
been allowed to assume the reins of government with¬ 
out resistance. The next son of the king was as un¬ 
popular as the Duke of Orleans was beloved; and 
when the tide of anarchy came surging against the 
throne of Louis Philippe, he had no one to roll it back 
again. The son of the Duke of Orleans, the Count of 
Paris, is still alive; and if ever the tide turns again in 
favor of monarchy, as it surely will, the count, who is 
now but a child, will be the most likely to ascend the 
throne. He is said to be a boy of good parts, an amia¬ 
ble disposition, but somewhat destitute of energy and 
decision. God grant that the time may not soon come 
when France, and gay, beautiful Paris shall be again 
deluged with blood. 


PARISIAN LIFE 


209 


XVII. 

I 

PARISIAN LIFE. 

One cannot fail to observe that the Parisians are 
very much devoted to light amusements. The evidence 
of this fact meets you at every corner, and in every 
great gathering. These amusements are generally of 
the lightest and most trivial kinds; and however de¬ 
voted an Englishman or an American might be to 
pleasure, he would soon tire and weary himself with 
the vain and foolish sports which engross so much of 
the time of the middle and lower classes of Paris. The 
great pleasure grounds are the 

CHAMPS ELYSEES, 

a fine promenade, striking west from Place de la Con¬ 
corde one and a quarter miles, laid out with foot and 
carriage paths, and forming a beautiful resort for the 
gay and fashionable crowds, who sit and walk by hours, 
hearing sweet music, and witnessing gay scenes. Trees 
finely trimmed, and hedges carefully trained, give shel¬ 
ter from the sun, while thousands of chairs and benches 
furnish seats when the people are weary. These 
grounds are let for panorama and other exhibitions, 
from which an income is derived of about twenty thou¬ 
sand francs per annum. On the afternoon or evening 
of any pleasant day, thousands of persons are seen mov¬ 
ing about under the trees, or resting themselves on the 
benches, or enjoying some of the sports of the place 

27 R * 


210 


EUIiOPA. 


and occasion. On Sabbath day, the crowd swells to tens 
of thousands, and, in holiday attire, move about with¬ 
out the least noise or confusion. The appearance of 
these grounds is much like the appearance of one of 
our muster fields, but without the confusion and noise 
of the latter. Let me describe the Champs Elysees, as 
I first saw them. Approaching by the Rue St. Honore, 
the grounds presented themselves to my sight, filled 
with fifty thousand persons. All kinds of amusements 
seemed to be in progress. Beneath the trees, young 
men, in large numbers, were engaged in the various 
games calculated to give strength and vigor to the 
muscular system. On both sides of the Avenue de 
Neuilly, which is twelve feet wide, and paved with 
bitumen, were pavilions, richly decorated and finely 
illuminated, radiant with all the colors of the rainbow, 
and flowing with banners, ribins, pennants, and laces. 
These were open on one side, and filled with singers. 
In front were about one hundred tables, with two 
chairs to each. The whole was enclosed with ropes, 
without which stood thousands looking on and listen¬ 
ing to the fine singing and music. Any person was 
allowed to go in, and sit down on the chairs, and use 
the tables, without charge, but was expected to order 
wine and refreshments. Husbands and wives, lovers 
and ladies, parents and children, were here sipping 
wine and eating ices, and enjoying the occasion. The 
singers were dressed in the hight of French fashion, 
gesticulated with French vehemence, and drew shouts 
of applause from French auditors. On one occasion, 
seeing other people entering the enclosure, a friend and 
myself took our seats with the rest. Soon a waiter 
came, and asked us, in indifferent English, what we 
would have. We told him we did not wish to drink, 


PARISIAN LIFE. 


211 


and, perhaps, were not allowed to retain our seats with¬ 
out doing so. He replied, “ Well, nobody don’t never 
come here that don’t take nothing.” This was suffi¬ 
cient, and we moved away. The proprietor of the cafe 
hires these singers, and secures his remuneration by the 
free drinking of the people. A little farther on, a few 
young men and women were playing on violins and 
harps. They were gathered around several candles, 
which were set in the ground. Now and then, a few 
sous were thrown to them, which they eagerly gathered 
up. In one place was a blind fiddler, scraping with all 
his might, and near by him a man with some dancing 
dogs, while learned goats were giving an exhibition in 
another direction. All forms of gambling were seen. 
Children were gambling for cakes of gingerbread and 
candy; women, for combs, and little articles of toilet 
use; men,for articles of greater value. Wooden horses, 
cradles, and ships turned by a wheel; fandangoes, of 
immense size ; and a hundred other devices to secure 
money or mirth. Moving up and down the walks, or 
engaged in sport, are crowds of fresh-looking, gay, 
fashionable people, on whose countenances not a trace 
of care may be seen. There is no noise, no disorder, 
no quarreling, no drunkenness, but all is as quiet as 
the streets of Boston on Sunday. 

Bounding these grounds are buildings of more per¬ 
manent character, designed for those kinds of exhibi¬ 
tions which cannot be held in the open air; and, when 
the walks are deserted in the wet and lowering day, 
these halls of mirth may be found densely crowded. 
How this scene of gayety is kept up week after week, 
and year after year, seems a mystery. Two or three 
visits are enough for the steady Englishman, and he 
turns from it with disgust. In London or New York, 


212 


EUROPA. 


such an exhibition could not be sustained a year; and 
yet the volatile French enjoy it; and in those fields 
may be found the people of Paris without distinction 
of rank, from the poetic Lamartine, the brave Cavai- 
gnac, and that prince of fashion, Count d’Orsay, down 
to the working men and women of the lowest orders. 
Down through Avenue de Neuilly dashes the chariot 
of the republican president, and anon rolls after it 
the coupe of the grisette. Ledru Rollin and M. de 
Girardin walk cosily arm in arm, talking over the 
politics of the nation, while by them sweeps the tide 
of life, or round them whirls the vortex of human 
beings, bent on pleasure, and caring not who rules 
or ruins. 

The French live much in the open air. In the city, 
they throng the public walks and gardens ; and in the 
country, they cultivate the fields, and women perform 
much manual labor. I had often read of the part 
taken in the various revolutions by the women of 
Paris; but I never could understand it. I had read 
of that mob of women which swept out to Versailles, 
and back again to Paris, controlling the army, overaw¬ 
ing the populace, judging the king, and overturning 
the government, but was always at a loss to understand 
the secret. But a brief residence in Paris explains the 
whole. The lower class of women in France are ac¬ 
customed to all kinds of hardship, and have unsexed 
themselves by the constant performance of rough out- 
of-door duties ; and, by contact with coarse, uncouth 
men, they become as masculine, brazen, and bold as the 
soldiers in the army. Wandering through their pleas¬ 
ure grounds, they present a gay and pleasing spectacle, 
with the sparkling black eye, and the frank, open coun¬ 
tenance ; but, when aroused and maddened by revenge 


PARISIAN LIFE. 


213 


* * r • . t 

or want, they enter into scenes of disturbance with as 
much readiness as their lovers and husbands. A 
young man, a graduate of one of our universities, 
went to Paris to perfect himself in the science of 
medicine, to which he had devoted himself. While 
there, he became acquainted with a pretty, agreeable 
young woman, who drew his attention and engaged his 
affections. They were married, and she returned with 
him to America. He established himself in his pro¬ 
fession in one of our quiet towns, and commenced at 
once a good practice. But his wife has been to him 
a continual plague. She persists in cultivating the 
gardens, grooming his horse, managing the affairs of 
his stable, and entirely refuses to attend to the appro¬ 
priate duties of woman in her family. For a while, 
the husband resisted this wayward inclination, but in 
vain; and he at last surrendered, and now she has her 
own way, to his great grief and mortification. Of 
such women was that mob composed which accom¬ 
panied the beautiful Marie Antoinette from Versailles 
to Paris, holding up to the window of her carriage the 
trunkless heads of her faithful servants, who had been 
slain in her defence. 

THE HIPPODROME 

is another place of fashionable resort for the Parisians. 
This is an immense structure without the city, built 
in Moorish style, of an oval form, three hundred and 
eighty feet in diameter, and capable of seating ten 
thousand persons. Several times a week, this place 
is open for equestrian performances, and hither thou¬ 
sands resort to witness feats of agility and strength. 
We wandered in, one afternoon, while a balloon was 


214 


EUROPA. 


* 

being inflated, which, shortly after, made a fine ascen¬ 
sion, carrying up seven men in gallant style. While 
preparations were made for the ascension, the people 
were amused by several performances in chariot riding, 
after the old Homan style, which was free from much 
that is so offensive to correct morals in such exhibi¬ 
tions in America. The disposition for amusement may 
he judged by the fact that, though this building is open 
nearly all the year, it always finds an audience brilliant, 
fashionable, and numerous. 

There are also a great variety of amusements of all 
kinds. The theaters furnish a resort for thirty or forty 
thousand persons every evening, while concerts, balls, 
and public gardens are all well patronized. The public 
gardens in Paris are far more objectionable than those 
in London, and respectable ladies seldom enter them. 
They are very attractive in their arrangements and dec¬ 
orations, and perhaps a visit to one of them gives a 
more correct view of one form of Parisian life than 
can be obtained from any other source. I wandered, 
one night, with my two clerical companions, into 

THE CHATEAU DES FLEURS, 

which is a few acres of ground, profusely ornamented, 
and realizing the schoolboy’s idea of a fairy grotto. 
Walks are neatly laid out, flowers and shrubbery are 
delightfully arranged, fountains are glistening in the 
gaslight, and the whole garden seems alive with joy. 
The trees are hung with colored lights, the grass is 
twinkling with little Chinese lanterns, sweet flowers are 
blooming all around, and wreaths and festoons seem 
ready to fall upon the head of beauty. In one corner 
are saloons for billiard tables ; near by are refreshment 


PARISIAN LIFE. 


215 


rooms; in one comer are arrangements for shooting; 
at a distance is a beautiful little grove, in which sits a 
fortune-teller, to reveal the mysterious destiny of those 
who are foolish enough to pay their money for such an 
object. In the center is an open space for dancing. 
The earth is hard and level, and seems well fitted for 
the purpose. A large orchestra is on a beautiful stand, 
back of this open space, discoursing sweet music. Here 
the young men and women of Paris come to spend their 
evenings in gambling, eating, or dancing. Though ter¬ 
ribly destructive to morals as these places must from 
necessity be, they are, doubtless, less poisonous to so¬ 
ciety than the low dances which are held in our large 
cities. While there is much to intoxicate the passions, 
steal away the senses, and bewilder reason, there is 
also much to please the imagination and satisfy an 
innate love of the beautiful; while, in the dances 
among us, there is lust without beauty, and vice with¬ 
out taste. Every appeal is made to the lowest appe¬ 
tites and propensities of our fallen nature, and not 
one effort made to please the judgment or improve 
the taste. 

All the public gardens and pleasures of Paris are 
under the strict attention of the police, who, without 
uniform, are moving about in all directions. The least 
signs of indecorum will secure their interference; and 
such is the influence of this body of men, that, in all 
the time I remained in Paris, I did not observe one 
single instance of that loose, vulgar rowdyism which 
is so noticeable in England and America. There were 
no gatherings on corners of the streets, no disputes 
along the Boulevards, and, though the streets and 
pleasure grounds were thronged, none seemed to be 


216 


EUROPA. 


disposed to disorder and contention. On the counte¬ 
nances of the living, moving mass seemed to be the 
most determined good nature; and though I have been 
in the streets at almost all hours, yet I did not see a 
drunken man or a disorderly person during my whole 
stay in that delightful city. The most charming order 
seemed to prevail, not only in open sunlight, but in 
the dim and dismal night. 



OBJECTS OE INTEREST IN PARIS. 


217 


X Y111. 

OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 

The finest view of Paris, and I think the finest view 
of any city I ever took, was from the top of 

THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH, 

situated on an elevated ground, overlooking the city. 
It was commenced by Napoleon, and completed in 
1836, at a cost of more than ten million francs. It 
consists of a grand central arch, ninety feet high and 
forty-five feet wide, through which passes a traverse 
arch, scarcely less bold and magnificent in its propor¬ 
tions. The monument rises to a hight of one hundred 
and fifty-two feet, and sinks its solid stone foundation 
twenty-five feet below the surface of the ground. The 
piers and the entablature are richly ornamented with 
carved stone work, and form one of the most magnifi¬ 
cent triumphal arches in the world. The ascent is ob¬ 
tained by a flight of two hundred and sixty-one steps; 
and when, at the expense of weary limbs, it is reached, 
one of the finest prospects conceivable bursts upon 
the sight. For an hour, I stood looking down upon 
the city which spread out before me. The Champs 
Elysees, with the spacious avenue, was thronged with 
people. Beyond, the palaces were glistening in the 
sun ; the Notre Fame and the Pantheon lifted up large 
towers and domes, like monuments amid a sea of habi¬ 
tations, the ornamented columns pointing upward, like 

28 s 


218 


EUROPA. 


the lingers of a giant; the broad, flat roof of La Mada- 
leine stretched out like a plain; while all around, a 
beautiful country was spread in every direction. I 
have stood upon the dome of St. Paul’s, in London, 
and St. Peter’s, in Pome; but I do not remember a 
finer view than that which is obtained from the top of 
the triumphal arch. The view from the dome of St. 
Paul’s is destroyed by the dim, hazy atmosphere, and 
the perpetual fogs which hang over London. That ob¬ 
tained from St. Peter’s is broken by ruins, and marked 
by the signs of decay every where observable. 

Another fine view of Paris is obtained from 

PERE LA CHAISE, 

the beautiful cemetery north-east of the city. For a 
long time, this lovely spot, where the dead now sleep, 
was the garden of a convent, and gloomy friars roamed 
where now reigns the silence of death. In 1804, it was 
purchased and laid out as a burial-place, and is now 
the most noted cemetery in the world. I do not think 
it so beautiful as Mount Auburn or Laurel Hill. 
There is a crowded appearance, which detracts much 
from its solemn and mournful aspect. It is filled with 
monuments, chapels, urns, and other funereal orna¬ 
ments. The most striking feature of this place is the 
great number of little chapels, erected over different 
graves, large enough to hold two or three persons, and 
in which are chairs, an altar, and a crucifix. To these 
chapels friends repair to weep, and to pray for the souls 
of those whose ashes are beneath. The tombs are also 
covered with wreaths, flowers, and votive offerings of 
every description. The long street leading to the ceme¬ 
tery is filled with women and children braiding wreaths 
and making artificial flowers, which friends purchase as 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 


219 


they enter, and leave upon the grave. A description 
of one of these monumental chapels will give a gen¬ 
eral idea of the whole. The one which I sketched was 
of soft sandstone, Corinthian architecture, seven feet, 
long and four feet wide. A man could stand upright 
in it. The walls were thin, and the door of iron trel- 
lised work, through which the interior could be seen. 
It was furnished with a chair, a prayer book, several 
pots of the geranium, a vase of natural flowers, a kneel¬ 
ing statue, a silver crucifix, a miniature daguerreotype, 
a mourning picture, and some twenty-five wreaths of 
artificial flowers. A little table on which some of 
these things stood was covered with white muslin, and 
the floor neatly spread with painted carpet. In the 
rear, behind the altar, or table, was a small stained 
glass window; and the whole structure was neat and 
beautiful. The cemetery, which has about one hun¬ 
dred acres, is filled up with chapels and monuments, 
beneath which sleep in death many who were once 
loved and honored in life. One of the most conspic¬ 
uous monuments here is that of the two lovers, Abe¬ 
lard and Heloise, whose story is better known to all 
the ladies than it is to me. It is built out of the mate¬ 
rials of the abbey which was founded by Abelard, and 
of which his unfortunate companion was the first ab¬ 
bess. No stranger goes to that cemetery without in¬ 
quiring for this remarkable tomb, and none turn from 
it without an expression of pity for the fate of those 
whose death it is designed to commemorate. 

The burial-place of Marshal Ney, whose only crime 
was that he loved his country too well, is here. After 
having fought the battles and avenged the wrongs of 
France, he was condemned and shot as a traitor; and 
his ashes are here, without a monument. An iron fence 


220 


EUROPA. 


encloses tlie spot where he sleeps, and on one of the 
rails an old soldier has scratched with his sword the 
three letters of his name; and this is the only inscrip¬ 
tion which marks his resting-place. As I stood over 
that plain grave, the dim past came rushing through 
my mind. The storm of battle again raged upon the 
earth. The solid ground shook with the clash of 
arms and the tramp of thousands. I was at Fried- 
land, and Borodino, and Waterloo, and saw the magnif¬ 
icent column of Ney advancing to the terrible charge, 
pressing into the smoke and tumult of the battle, often 
repulsed, torn, and mangled, but at last victorious. I 
heard Napoleon call him the “ bravest of the brave,” 
and saw him rush where death and danger were to be 
braved. The*scene changes, and the battle is over. 
One man is led out to die. His step is firm and his 
head erect. With a noble declaration of fidelity to 
France, he is shot to appease the clamors of the Duke 
of Wellington, the present idol of the English nation. 
Buried in a dishonored grave, which none who admire 
personal courage and heroic devotion to country can 
visit without emotion, he sleeps, awaiting the sound of 
the last trumpet. 

Connected with the cemetery is a chapel for burial 
services, capable of seating about three hundred per¬ 
sons, and is a plain stone edifice, without ornaments or 
decorations. While we were in the grounds, we saw 
an old man, with his wife, and two children, engaged 
in prayer over a new-made grave. The wind was play¬ 
ing with his waving hair, and wafting his petition up 
to God. A funeral came in, bearing some lowly corpse 
to its long home; and, as we moved away, the last 
sound we heard was the rattling in of the earth upon 
the plain and unornamented coffin. There are about 
sixteen thousand tombs in this cemetery. 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PxYRIS. 


221 


THE MORGUE 

is a place which I visited with much melancholy inter¬ 
est. This is a plain Doric building on the banks of 
the Seine, where dead bodies are brought to be recog¬ 
nized by friends. They are divested of their clothing, 
which is hung up beside them, and are allowed to re¬ 
main three days, at the end of which time they are 
buried. They are laid out upon a brass table, or plat¬ 
form, behind a glass partition. The table is inclined, 
and the whole person may be viewed by the spectator. 
About three hundred a year, or nearly one a day, are 
brought here, most of whom are drawn from the river. 
I went in to this sad place on two occasions. The first 
time, it was empty; no human form was laid out there 
in the chill of death. But the second time, it was not 
so. Two bodies were laid out for inspection. Large 
numbers were continually coming and going, and an 
idle, morbid curiosity seemed to impel the people for¬ 
ward, and gather them close around the bodies. At 
length, a woman came with a basket on her arm. She 
came in careless and gay, singing some familiar song, 
and pressed her way up to the glass, through which 
she could see the bodies. She gazed a moment, turned 
pale, uttered a shriek, and rushed away, followed by the 
crowd. She had recognized in the form of one of the 
dead men a husband, brother, or lover, and, in the full¬ 
ness of her heart, had gone away to weep. 

As we left the place, the dead-cart came in with more 
bodies. We could not tell the number; but the man 
who drove it had three hats in his hand, and the load 
appeared to be heavy. 

The stranger who is alone in Paris will have some 
peculiar feelings as he goes into this home of death, 

s * 


222 


EUROPA. 


and beholds the forms of the dead stretched out for 
recognition. He will realize his own liability to fall, 
stricken by the hand of disease, away from home, and 
in the midst of strangers, and be laid out thus, with no 
friend to come and recognize him, and bear him away 
to a distant burial. 

Nor can one help inquiring as to the cause of these 
numerous deaths. Did they faint and fall, or did they 
cast themselves by design into the Seine ? Were they 
tired of life, and did they expect to escape from misery 
by suicide ? It is a melancholy fact that, in the midst 
• of the gay inhabitants of Paris, suicides are terribly 
frequent. Almost every day, some poor fellow-creature 
puts an end to his own life, and goes up to meet his 
God a self-murderer. The pleasures of that light and 
glad metropolis do not make the people content with 
life ; and weary of it, and tired of its perplexities, and 
with a perverted view of the future, they rush out of 
time into an eternity of which they know but little, 
and for which they are not prepared. 

THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES, 

or royal house for poor and infirm soldiers, is situated 
on the left bank of the Seine. This admirable charity 
was founded by Louis XIV., and is an object of great 
interest: It is occupied by soldiers who have been dis¬ 
abled, or who have served in the army thirty years; 
and of these there are now about three thousand. 
They are well cared for, well fed and clothed, all dress¬ 
ing in a plain, neat uniform. They have a church, 
library, and all the other appendages of such an insti¬ 
tution. We rode in, passing a row of cannon, — the 
trophies of African conquests, — along by the barracks, 
gazing out upon old soldiers who were thronged around, 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 223 

some minus an eye, some a leg, and some an arm. On 
entering, we found a company of Napoleon’s old sol¬ 
diers drawn up for review. Some had legs, and some 
had eyes; but the majority of them were in some way 
disabled. It was an affecting sight to see these old 
soldiers, whose faces will now kindle up with enthusi¬ 
asm at the mention of Waterloo, Austerlitz, and Lodi. 
They are men who have fought under the eye of the 
emperor, and marched to deadly battle to the thunders 
of his artillery. It was some festival, and high mass 
was being said in the church; and we met the gov¬ 
ernor of the Invalides, Jerome Bonaparte, ex-king of 
Westphalia, being escorted in by a company of soldiers. 
We knew him at once, from his resemblance to Napo¬ 
leon — the cocked hat, the same countenance and bear¬ 
ing ; and I almost imagined that the emperor was 
again among men, and moving before me. He is a 
noble-looking man ; and, as he moved by, we uncovered 
our heads, which he perceiving, and probably recog¬ 
nizing us as strangers, very courteously returned by 
removing his cocked chapeau. We followed on to 
the church, which is ornamented with flags, torn and 
bloody, which the French have taken in battle. A 
few years ago, there were three thousand of these 
trophies of war; but, on the entry of the allied forces 
into Paris, in 1814, Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king of Spain, 
commanded them to be burnt, that they might not fall 
into the hands of their former owners. The present 
number is less; and among them is seen none taken 
from American ranks; the stripes and stars wave not 
amid those signals of blood and conquest. 

In the center of the church, beneath a dome, is being 
built the magnificent tomb of the emperor, whose sleep 
at St. Helena has been broken by the clamors of pride, 


224 


EUROPA. 


and whose ashes were borne back to France, a few years 
ago, in funereal pomp such as the world never witnessed 
before; and here they will remain guarded and wept 
over by the veterans who have served under him in his 
most terrible battles. 

The kitchens, dormitories, and dining-rooms are in 
excellent order. The various spacious apartments are 
hung with pictures and adorned with statues, and the 
whole constitutes one of the most interesting objects 
which a stranger can visit in the whole city. 

THE GOBELINS. 

The stranger in Paris will find great pleasure in vis¬ 
iting the manufactory of ornamental tapestry, named 
for one Jean Gobelin, who commenced the business 
some four or five centuries ago. He was succeeded by 
several other private persons, and the whole establish¬ 
ment at length fell into the hands of the government ; 
and one hundred and twenty hands are now employed 
in the manufacture of the most beautiful fabrics for 
the state. Some of the pieces of tapestry made here 
require several years, and are most exquisite in their 
design and finish. We saw it in all the various stages 
of progress, and nothing can exceed the perfection to 
which the art is brought. Softer and richer than the 
nicest paintings, these pieces of tapestry are sent away 
to decorate the palaces of kings. I noticed particu¬ 
larly a very fine piece of work of this kind, nearly fin¬ 
ished. It was a scene drawn from the history of Napo¬ 
leon. He had arrived to the sad conclusion of obtaining 
a divorce from his beautiful empress Josephine. Actu¬ 
ated by political motives, and impelled by an uncontrol¬ 
lable ambition, he had already taken the steps necessary 
in such a case. A letter is sent from one of Napoleor/g 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 


225 


marshals, announcing to the wife the plans of the em¬ 
peror. This tapestry represents Josephine laying the 
letter before her husband, and appealing to him to 
deny its contents. The whole scene is one of touching 
beauty. Josephine is on her knees ; the tears are roll¬ 
ing down her cheeks; the open letter is in her jew¬ 
eled hands; while her whole countenance bears the 
marks of the most beautiful grief and anxiety. Napo¬ 
leon stands before her, with scarcely less of sorrow on 
his own countenance; and he turns half away, to hide 
his feelings. Without the door are listening figures, 
ready to catch the words uttered, and go away and 
spread them through the metropolis. The figures are 
as large as life, and wrought in a most perfect manner. 
One can hardly gaze upon it without tears ; and I no¬ 
ticed that the French stopped longer before it, and be¬ 
came more excited in beholding it, than in viewing any 
other scene. 

Speaking of Josephine reminds me that the house in 
which she formerly lived still stands in Rue Victoire, 
an object of interest to the stranger. Here her youth 
was spent, and here she lived when a young, ardent 
man became her lover, and poured into her ear the tale 
of his passion. She was lovely, gentle, and dovelike; 
he was fiery, impetuous, and strong. She clung to him 
as the vine clings to the mighty oak. To her he here 
unfolded his proud projects and opened his great de¬ 
signs, to which she shook her head in silence. Soon 
he began to put these plans into execution, and at 
length came and led her away to the old Cathedral of 
Notre Dame, and placed a crown upon her head. She 
loved him with undying and untiring affection; his 
battles she watched with the most painful interest; 
and in all France there was not a truer heart than that 

29 


I 


226 EUROPA. 

which Napoleon found, ere his dream of conquest com¬ 
menced, in a cottage shaded by rich foliage, in a little 
lane in Rue Victoire. 

One of the darkest deeds of Napoleon’s history was 
his infamous divorce from this lovely and accomplished 
female. His overleaping ambition led him to it. His 
heart was not alienated, and he loved Josephine still; 
but he gave her up for the cold, half-hearted, superfi¬ 
cial Maria Louisa, who deserted him in his misfortunes, 
and lived in gayety while he continued in exile. 

There are also many other private residences of much 
historical interest, and many public buildings which are 
associated in the mind with the most fearful events 
which ever transpired in that city of crime and pleas¬ 
ure. These 


VESTIGES OF REVOLUTIONS 

are found in almost every street, and each palace and 
public garden has its tale of horror to tell, which 
makes the blood run cold, and freezes up the heart 
with dread. In one place, you will be stopped and 
pointed to the house in which Marat met his terrible 
end. As you see the guide tremble, you will ask him 
to relate the story. He will tell you of a beautiful 
young woman, of delicate form and fair complexion, 
who left her aged sire one day, placing on his table a 
note saying that she had gone to England, should never 
return, and requesting him to forget her. On she wan¬ 
ders, towards Paris, in the lumbering diligence. On 
reaching the city, she repairs to a hotel, sleeps a while, 
and then wanders out to purchase a sheath knife. On 
she goes, with the knife buried in her garments, to the 
house of citizen Marat. He is a coward, steeped in 
blood, and suspects some treachery, and will not see 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 


227 


lier. She retires to her hotel, and writes to him urgent 
epistles. Of these he takes no notice. She sends 
again, telling him that she can unfold infamous plots, 
and reveal horrid purposes; but he is still afraid. At 
length, sick and tired, he goes into his bath; and his 
pursuer knocks at the door, and mingles her musical 
voice with the echo. The guilty Marat hears a fe¬ 
male tone, and Marat never was insensible to female 
charms. He cries, “ Come in; ” and Charlotte Cor- 
day stands before him. She tells him of treason; of 
honored men engaged in it; of the way to arrest it. 
His face grows pale with rage; and he seizes his pen 
to write the names of foes just given him, declaring, 
with an oath, that they shall have blood to drink. As 
he bends over his paper, Charlotte plunges her knife 
deep into his heart; and his purple gore mingles with 
the water of his bath, and the names which he has 
written are blotted out with blood. At once, Paris is 
in arms. The din of confusion sounds, rings, and 
echoes. The woman surrenders herself into the hands 
of officers, and is led to the revolutionary tribunal. 
She owns the horrid crime, and, with exulting voice, 
exclaims, “ I killed Marat! He was a savage beast, 
and his death will give repose to my bleeding country.” 
She is doomed to die. Out goes the death cart from 
the gloomy prison, and in it rides Charlotte Corday, 
with the red death gown on, her cheeks as fair and 
beautiful as when, a few days ago, she left her distant 
home. The cart stops, and soon the executioner holds 
up her bleeding head, that the people may see that his 
work has been done faithfully. The spirit of Charlotte 
Corday, beautifully misguided, goes chasing the hag¬ 
gard soul of Marat up to the judgment seat of Christ. 

In another street will be pointed out the house in 


228 EUROPA. 

which lived Admiral Coligny, who was slain on that 
terrible night which preceded St. Bartholomew’s day. 
For days previous, the unsuspecting Huguenots came 
pouring into the city, filling the hotels, and thronging 
its private residences. The night comes, and the clang¬ 
ing hell of St. Germaine gives the signal, and the ser¬ 
vants of the pope are drenching their swords in Prot¬ 
estant blood. Torches glare on the night, and hold 
crimes are committed in the streets. Already thou¬ 
sands have fallen, whole families butchered, and whole 
kindreds swept away. The noise and confusion in¬ 
crease, and a vile host surrounds the hotel of the ad- 
miral, the leader of the Protestants. They force the 
doors ; the brave Swiss guard are slain in the hall; the 
chamber of the sick and suffering noble is invaded; 
and a German menial passes a sword through the body 
of the veteran, and then gashes the face and hands. 
Below is heard the voice of the Duke of Guise, asking, 
“ Is it done % ” The assassins reply by forcing the mu¬ 
tilated body through the window, and hurling it upon 
the pavements below. The duke wipes the blood from 
the face, recognizes Coligny, and, kicking the lifeless 
clay, passes on to finish his work. Through every 
street goes the bloody band, with white scarfs on their 
arms and white crosses on their hats, from the Louvre 
\ to the Boulevards. All that day, the tide of blood 
flows; the houses are full of death; and the Seine 

■ fV. \ . - , . • . 

is red and gory. Out goes from Paris the dreadful in- 
telligence. The streets of Pome echo with shouts of 
gladness ; and the pope goes to the cathedral, and cele¬ 
brates high mass, and, from the high altar of St. Peter’s, 
applauds the murderous work. 

In taking another turn, we stumble upon the spot 
where Princess Lamballe, the unfortunate friend of 











































































































































































































































OBJECTS OE INTEREST IN PARIS. 


229 


Marie Antoinette, was so cruelly murdered. Her only 
crime was, that she was too much beloved by the unfor¬ 
tunate queen and her royal husband. She is first 
dragged to prison, and kept a while — every day ex¬ 
posed to insult and scorn. At length, the thirst for 
blood is so great, that she is demanded as a victim. A 
wild crowd of devils incarnate gather, and surge along 
to the place where she is confined, and demand that 
she be brought forth. At the sight which meets her 
eye, she faints again and again ; but the mob wait not 
long. They raise her up, and force her to walk along 
streets which are filled with dead bodies. As she goes, 
the fiends catch in their hands the blood of some of 
the poor victims who are dying by the wayside, and 
cast it into her face. If she falters, they prick her side 
with swords. Now, her face is gashed; and soon she 
falls, stumbling over a heap of the slain, and is speared 
upon the spot. The clothing is torn from her body, 
which is exposed to every insult that fiendish cruelty 
can devise; and, at length, one leg is torn from the 
goiy and gashed body, and rammed into a cannon, 
which is fired off amid the shoutings of the crowd. 

Almost every spot in the city s&ems to be associated 
with some vile scene in the dim and dreadful past 
This window is one from which some dead form wa* 
cast, and that from which the first gun, in some tumult, 
was fired. In this street, nobles were speared or shot 
down; and in that, pavements were torn up, and barri¬ 
cades formed, to protect life or destroy it. Here stood 
the guillotine, and there the Bastille. The Hotel de 
Ville is memorable as having been the place where the 
revolution commenced, and also the place where Robes¬ 
pierre was taken, after the fury of that dreadful period 
had passed away. His case you all know; and his 

T 


230 


EUROPA. 


name is written in letters of blood over the city, on the 
public buildings and triumphal columns. That guilty 
man aroused a storm which he could not control. He 
was shot in the very place where he had reveled in splen¬ 
dor, and died on the guillotine to which he had doomed 
so many of the unfortunate victims. Over the very 
places where these terrible scenes once transpired the 
people throng without any signs of grief or sadness. 
One would imagine Paris to be one of the most happy 
places in the world, did not terrible facts assure him to 
the reverse of this. Every thing is looking glad and 
pleasant. The public streets and pleasure grounds are 
all smiling and beautiful, and discontent does not seem 
to reign. But go behind the curtain ; inquire into the 
real condition of the people; and you will scarcely find 
a trace of true and substantial bliss. England, with 
all her suffering and vice, has more true and solid enjoy¬ 
ment by far than the gay metropolis of France. While 
I was in Paris, the public papers chronicled numerous 
cases of suicide and self-destruction. One morning, a 
man who kept a pleasure house in the Champs Elysees, 
dissatisfied with life, arose from a restless pillow, and 
went out and shot himself. His friends found him 
with his jaw shot off, and his corpse cold. On the 
same morning, on one of the trees of this fairy place 
a poor creature was found hung. His body was cut 
down and carried to the Morgue, where friends came 
and recognized it. These instances are so common, 
that they do not move the public breast, or arouse the 
* public conscience. 

Would time and space allow, I might describe other 
objects of much interest to the stranger in Paris. The 
city is full of places and objects of great historic re¬ 
nown ; and one may wander about for months, meeting 


OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 231 

with new objects of interest every clay. I might take 
you to churches tilled with images, pictures, saints, and 
devils for aught I know, whose walls are covered with 
dim inscriptions, and whose altars daily smoke with the 
incense of superstition; to vast libraries, one of which 
(Bibliotheque Royale) numbers eight hundred thou¬ 
sand books, eighty thousand manuscripts, four hundred 
thousand medals, three hundred thousand maps, and 
one million engravings; to cabinets of antique articles, 
where are objects of great curiosity, such as the seal of 
Michael Angelo, the iron chair of King Dagobert, the 
shield of Hannibal, the zodiac of Denderah, and every 
namable and unnamable wonder; to the abattoirs, those 
creations of Napoleon by which the health and comfort 
of the people are much increased; to the Bourse, where 
the living daily throng in such crowds; and to the 
catacombs, where repose the bones of the dead; to 
beautiful gardens and fine fountains; — indeed, to 
every scene of life, love, and beauty. 

While wandering about, one day, we fell into the 
studio of our countryman, Mr. Healy, who was en¬ 
gaged in painting the great picture of the United 
States Senate. The picture represents Webster reply¬ 
ing to Hayne, and is designed to represent the scene as 
it occurred. There sit Benton, Calhoun, Clay, and 
other noted men. Mr. Webster is speaking, while in 
the gallery are some of the most distinguished men and 
women of the land, among whom is Mrs. Webster, then 
a young bride, enjoying the triumph of her husband. 
The painting was then unfinished, and I thought was 
too stiff and formal. Mr. Webster was bolt upright, 
and seemed quite lifeless. It has since been finished, 
and brought to this country, and is now on exhibition 
in some of our large cities; but I have not seen it. 


232 


EUROPA. 


My criticism may be unjust, and likely is, as it is quite 
impossible for one to form an opinion of a painting 
which has not received the finishing touch of the artist. 
However, the fame of Mr. Healy is so well established, 
that no injury can be done him by my remarks upon 
his great work. 

I may also be alone in this opinion, as I have seen 
no notice of the painting, and do not pretend to judge 
of an art of which I know so little. The artist stands 
high in his profession on the other side of the Atlan¬ 
tic ; and if he has failed, to any extent, in the work of 
which we speak, it may doubtless be attributed to the 
peculiar character of the scene which he has endeavored 
to delineate, which is not capable of such striking ef¬ 
fect as may be produced in the painting of some other 
scenes and objects, such as the carnage of battle and 
the strife of war. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 233 


XIX. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 

The French nation presents a strange spectacle to 
the world, and holds up an example which none would 
wish to imitate. It is to-day (November, 1851) a re¬ 
public. Its supreme magistrate is a president, who 
must be a native of France, more than thirty years old, 
and is elected by the people. The legislature is the 
National Assembly, which is composed of several hun¬ 
dreds of members, also elected by the suffrages of the 
people. The president nominates three men, one of 
whom is chosen by the Assembly as vice president. 
He also selects his own cabinet. The general day of 
election is the second Sunday in May, every fourth 
year. The salary of the president is six hundred thou¬ 
sand francs, in addition to which frequent appropria¬ 
tions are made for the extra expenses of these officers. 

Louis Philippe came to the throne of France in 1830, 
in the midst of the existence of several distinct parties. 
The Republicans were clamorous for a democracy ; the 
Legitimists for the restoration of the elder branch of 
the Bourbon family; while a middle class looked to 
the house of Orleans as the only hope of their blood- 
drunken nation. Lafayette presented Louis Philippe 
as the representative of a liberal government; and he 
was accepted by the people, and crowned accordingly. 
From the day of his coronation up to the year 1848, 
he continued to reign, his throne ever surrounded by 

30 t* 


234 


EUIIOPA. 


traitors, frequent attempts made upon his life, and 
storm and tempest continually howling around him. 
He was, on the whole, a good king, a man of tolerable 
intellect, with a good knowledge of human nature, and 
an instinctive love of peace and order. During his 
administration, public buildings were erected, the arts 
flourished, and the nation was prosperous and happy. 
But, overlooking all these considerations, the people 
thirsted for revolution. Banquets were held, at which 
the revolutionary orators made violent speeches. Fierce 
and angry discussions were held in the House of Depu¬ 
ties. Ledru Rollin, Lamartine, and Barrot, each with 
a point to carry, harangued the people. In February, 
the waves of anarchy began to dash against the throne. 
Paris was full of troops; groups, in suppressed mur¬ 
murs, were heard discussing the state of the nation; 
night and day, soldiers, with drawn swords, were sta¬ 
tioned all over Paris, and stood in dumb silence, await¬ 
ing they knew not what. The people expected the 
overturning of the throne. They did not wait long; 
for soon, one evening, groups were seen with torches 
and red flags parading the streets, excited by their 
wild leaders. One of these processions reaches the 
Hotel of Foreign Affairs, where a column of soldiers 
is drawn up. Here a random shot is fired — no one 
knows by whom, or for what purpose; but it com¬ 
menced the revolution, drove Louis Philippe from his 
throne, and changed the kingdom into a republic. 
Through Paris sounds the cry of terror, that blood 
has been shed; and when blood begins to flow in 
France, no one knows where it will end. The dead 
bodies are gathered up, placed in a cart, and hurried 
away. Thousands follow with these terrible trophies 
to the office of the National. Here every attempt is 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 235 

made to inflame the passions of the people. The bodies 
in the dead-cart are overhauled, and the form of a fe¬ 
male is held up, all gory and red, and inflammatory 
speeches are made over the terrible display. Soon the 
hells are sounding, the pavements of the streets are 
being torn up, men and women are arming themselves, 
and the revolution is in progress. 

While all this is taking place in the street, the Tui- 
leries has been filled with councilors. M. Mole, M. 
Thiers, M. Guizot, and others have been called in to 
consult with the perplexed king. Louis Philippe, un¬ 
willing to shed blood, hesitates; but his hesitation is 
fatal. While he listens to the various plans, a messen¬ 
ger rushes in to tell him that the soldiers are giving 
away their arms to the people. The commandant still 
declares that the revolution can be stayed; that one 
broadside would drive back the masses who are filling 
the Place de la Concorde. Hour after hour is wasted, 
and the rage of the people knows no bounds. At 
length, the king gives orders to have the soldiers fire 
upon the mob. But the old officer shakes his head, and 
exclaims, “ Too late! ” The only alternative is abdi¬ 
cation, and Louis Philippe writes his withdrawal from 
the throne, in behalf of his grandson, the Count of 
Paris. One scene follows another in quick succession. 
First, the king is seen taking the arm of the queen, 
and, followed by members of the royal family, passing 
out of a side door into a cab found in the street, and 
hurrying away into a returnless exile. Then the 
Duchess of Orleans is seen in the Chamber of Dep¬ 
uties, with her two children, pleading for their rights, 
while over her hangs the sword, and around her shout 
the infuriated madmen. She is the widow of the old¬ 
est son of the king, and is arrayed in mourning yet for 


236 


EtTROPA. 


the sad death of her husband, who was thrown from 
his carriage and killed a while before. She comes into 
the Chamber of Deputies with the vain hope of restor¬ 
ing the tottering throne, and saving for her son the 
remnant of royalty. As she approaches the tribune, 
she moves her veil, and casts her calm blue eye around 
upon the astonished and bewildered deputies, as if to 
read her fate in their countenances. In one hand she 
leads the young king, who has just been made sover- • 
eign of France by the abdication of his grandfather ; 
in the other she holds the hand of the other child, the 
Duke of Chartres — two beautiful children, wearing 
short, black jackets, with snow-white collars, and a 
slight regal ornament suspended from the neck. Mur¬ 
murs of approbation follow her as she moves on. Her 
pale and serene look saddens all hearts, and all resent¬ 
ment and revenge are banished from the breasts of the 
members. She takes her seat at the foot of the tribune, 
and utters a silent but beautiful appeal to the feelings 
of the deputies. Speech after speech is made, and it 
seems as if the tide is turning in favor of monarchy, 
when shouts are heard without. Eude voices clamor 
for admittance; guns are discharged in the street; and 
a crowd of assailants burst into the Chamber. They 
look with glaring eyes upon the beautiful duchess and 
her children, and cry, “ Why is she here 1 ” The tide 
which had begun to set towards royalty begins to roll 
back again. The deputies grow pale, the duchess trem¬ 
bles, and her children clap their hands with joy at the 
scenes around them. Their mother, with a paper in 
her hand, arose to speak ; but they would not hear her, 
and she sat down in confusion, feeling that her case was 
hopeless. Soon the chamber was full of wild armed 
men, and the very tribune was gleaming with bayonets. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 237 


The whole scene w T as wild heyond description. One 
who witnessed it gives the following account: — 

“ The people were heard rushing against the door on 
the left, at the foot of the tribune. The clash of arms, 
the cries, shouts, questions, and groans of men, con¬ 
founded together, rang through the corridors. 

44 The hall and the tribunes sprang up at a bound. 
Men with outstretched arms, bayonets, sabers, bars of 
iron, and torn standards above their heads, forced their 
way into the hemicycle. It was the column of Captain 
Dunoyer, swelled by the Republicans it had recruited 
on its route. This column had first entered the Tuile- 
ries pellmell with the masses of insurgents who had 
invaded the chateau by all its entrances. They had 
there saved the municipal guards and the soldiers for¬ 
gotten in the retreat. Afterwards reaching the throne 
room, the column had been there preceded by Lagrange, 
the enthusiastic combatant of the insurrections of Ly¬ 
ons and Paris. 

“ Lagrange held in his hand the abdication, which 
he had taken, as we have seen, from Marshal Gerard at 
the moment when the old warrior displayed it before 
the people to disarm them. 

“ Lagrange, mounted on a bench, read the abdica¬ 
tion, and then, surveying his auditory with an inquis¬ 
itive look and a smile of disdain, he seemed to ask 
if this miserable satisfaction were sufficient for the 
blood poured out for three days. 4 No ! no ! ’ cried the 
victors. 4 No royalty, nor reign!’ ‘Bravo, friends,’ 
cried Lagrange; 4 we must have the republic.’ At 
this word, the applause broke forth. Orators took the 
very throne for a tribune. They mounted it, and there 
proclaimed the abolition of royalty. Captain Dunoyer 
and his men detached one of the flags that decorated 


238 


EUROPA. 


the dais of the throne. Others imitated them, tore the 
standards, divided the rags, and made trophies, scarfs, 
and cockades of them. Captain Dunoyer rallied around 
the flower of his men, summoned by his voice from the 
spectacle of the destruction of the chateau. He re¬ 
formed his column, and cried, 4 To the Chamber! Let 
us pursue royalty into the asylum where its shadow 
has sought refuge.’ 

44 The column crossed the Seine, and moved along the 
Quay d’Orsay, amid cries of 4 Down with the regency! ’ 
It was swelled in its progress by those men whom pop¬ 
ular currents draw in, as an overflowing river absorbs, 
without selection, all the purity and impurity upon its 
banks. A butcher’s boy, his apron stained with blood, 
brandishing a cutlass in his hand; a bareheaded and 
bald old man, with a white and bristling beard, armed 
with a drawn sword, of antique fashion, taken from 
some museum, whose guard was formed by a loaf 
pierced by the long blade — a living model of the 
painter’s studio; other vagabonds, attracting attention 
by their rags, and the singularity of their arms and 
attire, — placed themselves at the head of the National 
Guards and combatants, like so many eruptions of the 
volcanic explosion of the people. Pupils of the Poly¬ 
technic School marched between these men and the 
column. They advanced in double-quick time. The 
outposts of the line in vain crossed bayonets; the Re¬ 
publicans beat down the arms of the soldiers, passed 
them, and perceived the court carriages, which were 
waiting for the duchess at the doors of the Chamber. 
They were afraid that the supplications and tears of a 
woman would deprive them of the revolution. 

44 The butcher’s boy, knife in hand, crossed the empty 
space between the tribune and the steps. The deputies 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 239 

fell back in horror, shielding themselves from contact 
with his bloody garments. They formed a denser 
group on the upper benches, around the Duchess of 
Orleans. The princess, unintimidated, took notes with 
a pencil on her knee. She was doubtless searching 
her heart for words that would best save her son.” 1 

Every moment the throng became more clamorous; 
the deputies grew more inflammatory. The butcher’s 
boy ran towards the Duchess, crying, “ The spawn of 
royalty, we must make an end of them,” but was held 
back by a brave son of old Marshal Soult, who hurled 
him down into the crowd with just indignation and ab¬ 
horrence. 

At length, it became apparent that the noble woman 
could no longer remain in safety. The deputies who 
had gathered around her were unable any longer to 
save her from violence, and she was forced out of the 
hall, and left in the crowd without. Here she was sep¬ 
arated from her children, and, covered with a veil which 
concealed her countenance, she was dashed about by 
the swarms of people, until she fell against a glass 
door, which yielded, and she was borne away to a place 
of safety. The little Count of Paris met with more 
severe treatment. He was recognized, and a brawny 
man was about strangling him in the streets, when he 
was rescued by a national guard, who carried him, at 
the risk of his own life, to his mother. The Duke of 
Chartres fared still worse. He fell in the street, and 
was trodden down by the mob. Rescued at length, he 
was taken away, and for several days his mother re¬ 
mained without any knowledge of his safety, in the 
most distressing anxiety. 


1 Lamartine’s History of the Revolution. 


240 


EUROrA. 


While all this was taking place at the seat of gov¬ 
ernment, the king, with the queen and their children, 
had fled as far as Dreux, where he heard that his abdi¬ 
cation had not saved the throne to his grandson. He 
now began to fear for his own safety. The sad fate 
of Louis XVI. was before his mind, and he resolved to 
escape at once to England. Under the name of Theo¬ 
dore Lebran, he succeeded in the attempt, while his 
younger son, the Duke of Montpensier, with his wife, 
a delicate young woman, fled to Brussels. The whole 
family were at length united on English soil, secure 
from the waves of popular tumult which are contin¬ 
ually dashing in France. 

After the exciting scenes which we have now de¬ 
scribed had transpired, a provisional government, with 
Lamartine at the head, was formed, which soon became 
swallowed up in what has been termed a republic. 

We now come to the time of Louis Napoleon, who 
is the son of Louis Bonaparte, ex-king of Holland. 
His mother was the daughter of Josephine, the fair 
but frail Hortensia Beauharnais, with whom his father 
lived but a short time. 1 He was thus a nephew of the 


1 The following account is given 
of Louis Napoleon’s parentage: — 
“Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, who 
is more of a man than the world have 
supposed, is the nephew of the great 
Napoleon Bonaparte, and grandson 
of Josephine, his first wife. This 
captivating woman had two children, 
both by her first husband — Eugene 
and Hortense Beauharnais. Louis 
Bonaparte, father of him who is now 
at the head of the French people, 
was the third brother of the great 
Napoleon, and was born at Ajaccio, 
(Corsica,) on the 2d of September, 
1778. His marriage with the daugh¬ 
ter of Josephine was not his own 
choice, but brought about by the 


joint labor of Napoleon, and espe¬ 
cially Josephine, who artfully accom¬ 
plished many objects by which she 
hoped to make certain her own posi¬ 
tion as empress. The first proposal 
was made to him in July, 1800, short¬ 
ly after the return of the first consul 
from the campaign, one of the con¬ 
flicts of which was the battle of Ma¬ 
rengo. He then gave it a decided 
negative. Not long after, it was re¬ 
newed, but with no better success; 
and to escape further importunity, 
Louis Bonaparte made a tour of sev¬ 
eral months in Germany. 

“ In October, 1801, Josephine, not 
at all discouraged by the two pre¬ 
vious refusals to comply with her 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 241 

great Napoleon, to whose station he has so frequently 
aspired. He was made, by the emperor, Grand Duke 
of Berg, but obtained no distinction as a warrior or 
statesman. His youth seems to have been marked by 
nothing which would entitle him to any unusual honor, 
as a man or as a politician. 

He first presented himself to the world in an insur¬ 
rection at Strasbourg, which was badly planned, and re¬ 
sulted most unfavorably. The garrison, consisting of 
several regiments, and the people, were enthusiastic in 
his favor. But owing to the most unskillful general¬ 
ship, he lost his cause. Scarcely a blow was struck, or 
a gun fired, or a drop of blood shed. A stern royalist 
ran in among his own soldiers, and declared to them 
that the person calling himself Louis Napoleon, nephew 
of the emperor, was only an impostor. They became 
clamorous at once, and demanded that Louis Napoleon 
should prove his identity; and before he could do this, his 
camp was in complete disorder, and he was taken pris¬ 
oner. In this expedition, he certainly exhibited a want 
of tact and skill, as well as self-possession and bravery, 
and received, as he deserved, the scorn of his associates. 

We next find him in an insurrection at Boulogne, 


proposals, made a fresh assault upon 
Louis. One evening, during a ball 
at Malmaison, she took him aside; 
Napoleon joined the conference, and 
after a long conversation ‘ they made 
him give his consent,’ in the lan¬ 
guage of Louis himself, and on the 
4th of January, 1802, the contract, 
the civil marriage, and the religious 
ceremony took place at the private 
residence of the first consul in 
Paris. Hortense Bcauharnais had 
just left the celebrated boarding 
school of Madame Campan, and had 
no different part in the affair than her 
husband — both becoming instru¬ 
ments in the hands of the first con- 

31 


sul and Josephine. ‘Never,’ wrote 
Louis, ‘ was there a more gloomy 
ceremony; never had husband and 
wife a stronger presentiment of the 
bitterness of a reluctant and ill-as¬ 
sorted union.’ And Madame Cam- 
pan, who was at a ball given in honor 
of the event, states that ‘ every coun¬ 
tenance beamed with satisfaction 
save that of the bride, whose pro¬ 
found melancholy formed a sad con¬ 
trast to the happiness she might have 
been expected to evince; she seemed 
to shun her husband’s very looks, lest 
he should read in hers the indiffer¬ 
ence she felt towards him.’” 


U 


242 


EUROPA. 


which was as badly managed, and resulted as disgrace¬ 
fully as the other; and he was shut up by the French 
government in the citadel of Ham, where he remained 
until he was made president, four years ago. During 
the existence of the provisional government, an effort 
was made to recall him, and restore to him his privi¬ 
leges, but without success. Lamartine himself intro- 
duced a decree, which was adopted by the National 
Assembly almost unanimously, declaring Louis Napo¬ 
leon to be an outlaw, a disturber of the peace of the 
nation, a man dangerous to national honor; and de¬ 
clared his continued confinement necessary to the pros¬ 
perity of France. 

But when the election of president was ordered, his 
name was mentioned, by partisans, as a candidate. The 
people who honor the name and reverence the memory 
of Bonaparte, were carried away with the idea of hav¬ 
ing another ruler of the same name, and, by a large 
majority, he was elected to guide the ship of state. In 
administering the affairs of the government, he has 
been more successful than his most sanguine friends 
imagined, and has exhibited some traits of character 
which none supposed him to possess. But an attentive 
observer could not fail to see that all his efforts have 
been tending towards a centralization of influence, and 
every month the conviction has deepened, that he would 
not retire from office without an exhibition of his real 
character and object. He is a man of more ambition 
than common sense, and has secured his present po¬ 
sition simply from the fact that he bears a mighty name. 
His virtues, if he has any, never would have given him 
any title to leadership; and any effort which he might 
have made for office and honor would have been re¬ 
ceived with contempt and scorn. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 243 


He is now in middle life, and lives in licentious 
splendor in the Champs Elysees, surrounded by ambi¬ 
tious and designing men, and gay and beautiful women. 
Ills morals are said to be modeled after French no¬ 
tions of propriety. He may often be seen walking in 
bis fine gardens, or dashing in bis carriage through 
the streets. He has rendered himself somewhat pop¬ 
ular by his speeches at public meetings, banquets, and 
railway openings, and has proved more adroit and in¬ 
genious than some of his opponents. His reign — for 
by such a name will his administration of government 
be known—has been as severe and stern as that of Louis 
Philippe. The press has been curbed, the public voice 
has been hushed, and the popular will has not been 
known; During the last four years, public works have 
been stopped, public confidence has been destroyed, and 
the nation has been waiting for the close of his time 
of office, for the thunder and blood of another revo¬ 
lution. That France is a republic only in name, is 
abundantly demonstrated by the refusal of the presi¬ 
dent to allow our present distinguished national guest, 
M. Kossuth, to land on French soil. 

England received him with open arms; her minis¬ 
ters and statesmen turned out to welcome him, and he 
marched in triumph from the water side to the palace 
of Westminster. But republican France 1 refused him 
a landing, shut him out from the sympathy of her 
people, denied him the rest of a single night, and sent 
him away to tell that France is no home for the op¬ 
pressed, no refuge for the flying patriot. In the speech 

1 This chapter, up to this point, the peculiar construction of some of 
was written previous to the late out- the sentences. No sane man would 
break in Paris, and ere the infamous now think of calling France a re¬ 
coup d’etat of Louis Napoleon had public, 
been struck. This will account for 


244 


EUROPA. 


of Kossuth, made to the members of the American 
press, at a banquet given to him in New York, he 
holds the following truthful language, which will find 
an echo in the breast of every man who has spent any 
time in the boasted French republic: — 

“ You know, gentlemen, how the press is fettered 
throughout the European continent, even, for the pres¬ 
ent, in France itself, whose great nation, by a strange 
fate, sees, under a nominally republican but centralized 
government, all the glorious fruits of their great and 
victorious revolutions wasting between the blasting 
fingers of centralized administrative and legislative 
omnipotence. 

“ You know how the independent press of France is 
murdered by imprisonment of their editors, and by fees; 
you know how the present government of France feels 
unable to bear the force of public opinion — so much 
that in the French republic the very legitimate shout 
of ‘ Vive la Republique ’ has almost become a crime. 
This very circumstance is sufficient to prove, that in 
that glorious land, where the warm and noble heart 
of the French nation throbs with self-confidence and 
noble pride, a new revolution is an unavoidable neces¬ 
sity: It is a mournful view which the great French 
nation now presents; but it is also an efficient warning 
against the propensities of centralization, inconsistent 
with freedom, because inconsistent with self-govern¬ 
ment ; and it is also a source of hope for the European 
continent, because we know that things in France can¬ 
not endure thus as they are. We know that to become 
a true republic is a necessity for France; and thus we 
know, also, that whoever be the man who, in the ap¬ 
proaching crisis, will be honored by the confidence of 
the French nation, he will, he must, be faithful to that 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 


245 


great principle of fraternity towards the other nations, 
which, being announced by the French constitution to 
the world, raised such encouraging but bitterly disap¬ 
pointed expectations through Europe’s oppressed con¬ 
tinent.” 

Such had been the course of things up to the close 
of 1851. On the night of the 1st of December, a 
public reception was given by the president, which was 
attended by the most distinguished men of the Cham¬ 
ber and of the army. Late at night, the lamps were 
extinguished ; the foes of Napoleon departed to form a 
conspiracy against him, and he to arrest the very men 
who were plotting his downfall. The arrest of the 
generals of the army is thus facetiously described: — 

44 General Bedeau, whose disposition is stated to be 
of a wily, scheming, and 4 managing ’ order, entered 
into argument and discussion ; insisted on considering 
the matter in a variety of lights, for the improvement 
of his captors’ minds ; and finally arrayed himself en 
grande tenue , in order to avail himself of whatever 
influences his uniform should chance to possess with 
those he might meet with on his way. 

44 Not so the General Changarnier. As the officials 
entered, he snatched up a brace of pistols, and ex¬ 
claimed, ‘Je suis arme .’ The chief quietly replied that 
he saw such was the case, and that he was well aware 
that General Changarnier, by discharging his weapons, 
could kill a couple of those who had come to take him. 
But he suggested this course would scarcely be attended 
with appreciable advantages, inasmuch as the house was 
entoure by soldiers, so that the general’s escape would 
be impossible, and as, moreover, the ultimate result 
would assuredly be a prompt trial and a dishonorable 
execution. These arguments had weight with the 

u * 


246 


EUROPA. 


hasty but sensible Changarnier, who thereupon laid 
down his pistols, and surrendered his person. 

“Not so, again, with the amiable Cavaignac. The 
gentler occupation in which he had lately been engaged 
had probably softened his heroic spirit; and, upon his 
being aroused from his slumbers, and informed that he 
was arrested, he placidly remarked, ‘C’est juste, and, 
rubbing his eyes, requested to be apprised whether he 
might be permitted to dress himself, adding, in the most 
courteous manner, that his toilet would not detain him 
long. Being entreated to make his arrangements pre¬ 
cisely in the way most agreeable to himself, he rose, 
went through the toilet duties with the most perfect 
composure and completeness, and then, presenting him¬ 
self with a bow to the officer, politely declared himself, 
6 A vos or elves' 

“ It is, I trust, not below 4 the dignity of history ’ to 
add that General Cavaignac forthwith addressed a letter 
to the young lady whom he was so shortly to have es¬ 
poused, in which he chivalrously declared that he con¬ 
ceived that the event which had occurred had entirely 
deprived him of any right to consider her bound by 
engagements made with a free man ; and he formally 
released her from any such ties. If I may state this, 
I must claim leave to add, for the admiration of all 
who can appreciate high-mindedness, that the lady 
promptly and gracefully replied, that, so far from con¬ 
sidering the event in question as having released her 
from a tie in which she took so much pride, it had, 
if possible, rendered her engagement more binding 
than before. 

“ From which little romance let us pass to the very 
unromantic conduct of Colonel Charras, who, being 
also captured in bed, refused to get up, refused to 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 247 


dress himself, or to allow himself to be dressed; swore 
that, if taken at all, he would he taken en chemise; 
and was, into the bargain, taken at his word, being 
bundled up with such bedclothes as came readiest, and, 
in that unseemly guise, thrust into a vehicle and con¬ 
veyed to prison. General Lamoriciere made a deter¬ 
mined resistance, of a more soldierly kind; but the 
impression seems to be that the account of it which 
found its way into print was much exaggerated, and 
that no particular harm was done.” 

General Cavaignac was soon to he married to Mad¬ 
emoiselle Odier; and, when he was arrested, like a 
true man, he sat down and wrote her a full and free 
discharge from all her former engagements. His cir¬ 
cumstances had changed; he was a prisoner; his cap¬ 
tivity was to last he knew not how long; and he gave 
her full freedom to act accordingly, writing her as 
follows: “ You have youth, beauty, accomplishments, 
wealth; a throng of admirers, young, and more meri¬ 
torious than I am, surround you. Choose from among 
them, and you will be nearly as happy as you deserve 
to be — happier than I can make you.” The noble 
woman instantly replied, giving him an assurance of 
her changeless love, and her determination to share his 
fortunes, be they adverse or propitious. The general, 
as is known, has since been liberated, and at once ap¬ 
plied to the Archbishop of Paris to unite him in mar¬ 
riage to the woman of his choice. The ecclesiastic 
consented on condition that the bride would pledge to 
have her children educated in the Catholic faith. Mad¬ 
emoiselle Odier, who is a Protestant, refused to give 
her consent, and, with the general, went to Holland, 
where the knot was tied without any such restrictions. 

On the morning of December 2, whoever walked 


248 


EUROPA. 


abroad might have seen, on the walls of the houses, 
and the comers of the street, the famous proclamation, 
running in these words : —* 

In the name of the French people, the president of 
the republic decrees, — 

Art. I. The National Assembly is dissolved. 

Art. II. Universal suffrage is reestablished. The 
act of the 31st of May is repealed. 

Art. III. The French people are convoked in their 
elective colleges from the 14th to the 21st of De¬ 
cember. 

Art. IV. The state of siege is decreed in the line of 
the first military division. 

Art. V. The Council of State is dissolved. 

Art. VI. The minister of the interior is charged 
with the execution of this decree. 

Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. 

This was followed by an address to the army, on 
which the base usurper relies for support. 

Soldiers : Be proud of your mission ; you will save 
the country. . I rely upon you, not to violate the laws, 
but to command respect for the first law of the coun¬ 
try, national sovereignty, of which I am the legitimate 
representative. 

You long suffered, like me, from the obstacles that 
prevented me from doing you all the good I intended, 
and opposed the demonstrations of your sympathy in 
my favor. Those obstacles are removed. The Assem¬ 
bly sought to impair the authority which I derive from 
the entire nation ; it has ceased to exist. 

I make a loyal appeal to the people .and the army; 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 249 

and I tell them, either give me the means of insuring 
your prosperity, or choose another in my place. 

In 1830, as well as in 1848, you were treated as a 
vanquished army. After having branded your heroical 
disinterestedness, they disdained to consult your sympa¬ 
thies and wishes; and, nevertheless, you are the elite 
of the nation. To-day, at this solemn moment, I wish 
the voice of the army to be heard. 

Vote, then, freely, as citizens; but, as soldiers, do 
not forget that passive obedience to the orders of the 
chief of the government is the rigorous duty of the 
army, from the general down to the soldier. It is for 
me, who am responsible for my actions before the peo¬ 
ple and posterity, to adopt the measures most conducive 
to the public welfare. 

As for you, maintain entire the rules of discipline 
and honor. By your imposing attitude assist the coun¬ 
try in manifesting its will with calmness and reflection. 
Be ready to repress all attempt against the free exercise 
of the sovereignty of the people. 

Soldiers: I do not speak to you of the recollections 
attached to my name. They are engraved on your 
hearts. We are united by indissoluble ties. Your his¬ 
tory is mine. There is between us, in the past, a com¬ 
munity of glory and misfortunes. There shall be, in 
the future, a community of sentiments and resolutions 
for the repose and grandeur of France. 

Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Palace of the Elysee, December 2. 


To the people, in a proclamation, he gave a more full 
manifestation of his purpose, unfolding more at large 
his plans. But whoever reads and knows the facts in 
the case must be aware that he cares nothing for the 

32 


EUROPA. 


people. Relying upon the bayonet and the sword, he 
is determined to compel an acquiescence in his plans; 
and whoever sees the result will witness as monstrous a 
wrong upon the rights of the people as was ever com¬ 
mitted by the emperor himself. Here is his address to 
the people: — 

Frenchmen : The present situation cannot last much 
longer. Each day the situation of the country becomes 
worse. The Assembly, which ought to be the firmest 
supporter of order, has become a theater of plots. The 
patriotism of three hundred of its members could not 
arrest its fatal tendencies. In place of making laws 
for the general interest of the people, it was forging- 
arms for civil war. It attacked the power I hold di¬ 
rectly from the people; it encouraged every evil pas¬ 
sion ; it endangered the repose of France. I have dis¬ 
solved it; and I make the whole people judge between 
me and it. The constitution, as you know, had been 
made with the object of weakening beforehand the 
powers you intrusted to me. Six millions of votes 
were a striking protest against it; and yet I have faith¬ 
fully observed it. Provocations, calumnies, outrages, 
found me passive. But now that the fundamental part 
is no longer respected by those who incessantly invoke 
it, and the men who have already destroyed two mon¬ 
archies wish to tie up my hands, in order to overthrow 
the republic, my duty is to baffle their perfidious pro¬ 
jects, to maintain the republic, and to save the country, 
by appealing to the solemn judgments of the only sov¬ 
ereign I recognize in France — the people. 

I, then, make a loyal appeal to the entire nation ; 
and I say to you, if you wish to continue this state of 
disquietude and malaise that degrades you and endangers 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 251 

the future, choose another person in my place; for I 
no longer wish for a place which is powerless for good, 
hut which makes me responsible for acts that I cannot 
hinder, and chains me to the helm when I see the 
vessel rushing into the abyss. If, on the contrary, 
you have still confidence in me, give me the means of 
accomplishing the grand mission I hold from you. 
That mission consists in closing the era of revolution, 
in satisfying the legitimate wants of the people, and 
in protecting them against subversive passions. It 
consists especially to create institutions which survive 
men, and which are the foundation on which some¬ 
thing durable is based. Persuaded that the instability 
of power, that the preponderance of a single Assembly, 
are the permanent causes of trouble and discord, I sub¬ 
mit to your suffrages the fundamental bases of a con¬ 
stitution which the Assemblies will develop hereafter. 

First. A responsible chief, named for ten years. 

Second. The ministers dependent on the executive 
alone. 

Third. A council of state, formed of the most dis¬ 
tinguished men, preparing the laws, and maintaining 
the discussion before the legislative corps. 

Fourth. A legislative corps, discussing and voting 
the laws, named by universal suffrage, without the 
scrutin de lists , which falsifies the election. 

Fifth. A second Assembly, formed of all the illustri¬ 
ous persons of the nation — a preponderating power, 
guardian of the fundamental pact and of public liberty. 

This system., created by the first consul in the begin¬ 
ning of the present century, has already given to France 
repose and prosperity. It guaranties them still. Such 
is my profound conviction. If you partake it, declare 
so by your suffrages. If, on the contrary, you prefer a 


252 


EUROPA. 


government without force, monarchical or republican, 
borrowed from some chimerical future, reply in the 
negative. Thus, then, for the first time since 1804, 
you will vote with complete knowledge of the fact, and 
knowing for whom and for what you vote. 

If I do not obtain the majority of the votes, I shall 
summon a new Assembly, and lay down before it the 
mission I have received from you. But if you believe 
that the cause of which my name is the svmbol — that 
is, France regenerated by the revolution of ’89, and 
organized by the emperor — is still yours, proclaim it 
to be so by ratifying the powers I demand of ,you. 
Then France and Europe will be preserved from an¬ 
archy, obstacles will be removed, rivalries will have 
disappeared; for all will respect, in the will of the 
people, the decree of Providence. 

Done at the Palace of the Elysee, this 2d of December. 

Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. 

• - • ^ * < « * , . ’ - * ♦ 

» \ ' * ' ’ . v* - - - -- a .. * 

A large number of the members of the Chamber of 
Deputies known to be unfavorable to Napoleon were 
arrested; others tried to assemble, and at length suc¬ 
ceeded, and enacted the following decree: —* 

Republique Francaise, ) 

Assemblee Nationals, December 2, 1851. $ 

Whereas, article 68 of the constitution enacts as fol¬ 
lows : The president and his ministers are each respon¬ 
sible for the acts of the government; and any measure 
by which the president of the republic shall dissolve or 
prorogue the National Assembly, or place any obstacle 
to the exercise of its functions, is an act of high trea¬ 
son, — by that very act, the president forfeits his au¬ 
thority, and every citizen is bound to refuse obedience 
to his orders. 












































































































































































LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 


253 


The Assembly, therefore, since it is hindered by vio¬ 
lence from accomplishing its mission, decrees: — 

Louis Napoleon Bonaparte is deprived of his func¬ 
tions as president of the republic, and the citizens are 
called on to refuse him obedience. 

The executive power passes in its plenitude to the 
Assembly. 

The judges of the High Court of Justice are called 
on to meet immediately, upon pain of dismissal, to pro¬ 
ceed to judgment against the president and his accom¬ 
plices. 

It is enjoined upon all functionaries that they obey 
the requisition made in the name of the Assembly, 
under penalty of forfeiture, and the punishment pre¬ 
scribed for high treason. 

Made in public sitting this 2d December, 1851. 

(Signed) Benoist D’Azy, President. 

Vitet, Vice President. 

Chapot and Moulin, Secretaries. 

They also sent out an address to the French people, 
calling upon them to arise and hurl the usurper from 
his position. But to the eloquent appeal there was no 
response. The people had little more love for the 
National Assembly than for the president himself, and 
heard the burning words of the Chamber without the 
least enthusiasm. They feared one hundred thousand 
bayonets, that were glistening within the walls of Paris. 
The whole address may be judged by the following 
sentences: — 

“ Will you be debased 1 Will you be enslaved 1 
Will you become henceforth an object of eternal con¬ 
tempt and ridicule to the oppressed peoples who await¬ 
ed their deliverance at your hands 1 


v 


254 


EUROPA. 


“ Louis Bonaparte has just crowded into a few hours 
more crimes than it would have been thought possible 
to include in the life of man. 

“ Like a thief, he has seized upon the liberties of his 
country by a nocturnal surprise — a vulgar artifice, 
which certain people have been rash enough to call 
courage. 

“ He has audaciously trifled with the sanctity of the 
domestic hearth. 

“ By the help of his swaggering soldiery and police, 
he has silenced every voice in Paris except his own. 

“ At one blow he has suppressed all the journals, 
and has cast forth into the streets of Paris, without 
bread, those of your brethren whom the press sup¬ 
ported. 

“ He has outraged, stricken down, and trampled un¬ 
der foot the national representation, not only in the 
persons of your enemies, but also in that of Greppo, 
the energetic and loyal representative of the workmen 
of Lyons, and in that of Nadaud, the mason, who has 
so often and so nobly defended your interests in the 
tribune. 

“ Ho you w r ant to have a master ? And do you wish 
that that master should be Louis Bonaparte! You 
have seen the air with which he traversed the streets 
of Paris, hedged in by soldiers, covered by cannon, and 
causing himself to be borne in triumph by his staff, 
adding to the crime of high treason the insolence of a 
conqueror, and treating France as a conquered coun¬ 
try— he whose military annals can boast of nothing 
except the opprobrium of the Roman expedition. 

“He boasts of restoring to you universal suffrage, 
but on condition that it be worked for his private 
advantage, and not for yours, since he is going for ten 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 255 

years to be your master. ‘No scrutiny of the list,’ he 
says. Do you quite understand what that means 1 It 
means that the elections are to be made by registers 
lodged in the offices of the mayor. The great swin¬ 
dling maneuver which has been practiced upon France, 
once in her history, is to be renewed. Will you permit, 
precisely when it is pretended to restore your right, 
that it shall be filched from you ] 

“ Moreover, to exercise the right of the suffrage, you 
must be free. Let him begin, then, by restoring free 
speech to the journals; let the doors be flung wide 
open to popular meetings; let every man speak his 
mind, and learn that of others. Why those bayonets * 
Why those cannon ? To restore universal suffrage with 
the state of siege, is to add mockery to falsehood. A 
people proclaimed sovereign, it is the mantle of slavery 
thrown over your shoulders, even as the barbarian chief, 
in the time of the Lower Empire, threw the purple over 
the Roman emperors in placing them among his camp 
followers. Do you wish to be enslaved ? Do you wish 
to be debased ? Such is the cry wrung from us by an 
indignation impossible to be restrained. We who, in 
our exile, can at least speak, do speak. But we owe 
more than speech to the republic — our blood belongs 
to it. We know it, and shall not forget it.” 

In the mean while, Victor Hugo fled to Brussels. 
Louis Blanc found a refuge in London, from which he 
writes letters denouncing Napoleon, and showing 
what the plan is on which he may be expected to act. 
The charge which he brings against the usurper 
is this: — 

“ To divide Europe into three great empires — a Rus¬ 
sian empire, extending to Constantinople; an Austrian 
empire, with the definitive annexation of Italy; a 


256 


EUROPA. 


French empire, with the addition of Belgium. From 
this new holy alliance between three great despotic 
empires to cause to arise a war to the death against the 
Democratic party, and against the Liberal and Consti¬ 
tutional party; to extinguish beneath the army’s tread 
what the absolutist powers call the revolutionary flame, 

— that is to say, whatever lights the human spirit on 
the way of progress, — and if England resists, to crush 

her;.such is the plan, (who can doubt it 

longer 1) — such is the sacrilegious plan, of which the 
sack of Paris is the commencement, and for the accom¬ 
plishment of which Louis Bonaparte has delivered , 
France into the hands of French Cossacks: 

“ On the reality of this plan, and on the abominable 
complicity which binds to the fortune of the Emperor 
Nicholas the ambition of Louis Bonaparte, I may be 
able very shortly to publish some proofs, which I am 
now in course of collecting. We can then judge of 
the important influence which Russian gold exercises 
in the humiliation and misfortunes of France.” 

Soon blood began to flow in the streets of Paris. 
Hundreds were slaughtered while quietly sitting in 
their houses on the Boulevards. The press was re¬ 
stricted, and a guard placed in every office, and the 
news went out to the world, that in a single night 
republican France was changed into a military des¬ 
potism. 

In England and America, the tidings were received 
with regret, while bonfires were built in Rome, and 
public rejoicings were held in Vienna. 

The election of a president for ten years was given 
to the people, and, under the influence of fear, they 
have decided to be slaves. The vote stood as fol¬ 
lows : — 



1 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 257 

The whole number of ballots, . . 8,116,773 

Yeas, ....... 7,439,216 

Nays,. 640,216 

Majority, . . 6,789,479 

Upon which the president uses the following extraor¬ 
dinary language: — 

“ France has comprehended that I departed from 
legality to return to right. Upwards of seven mil¬ 
lion votes have absolved me. My object was to save 
France, and perhaps Europe, from years of trouble and 
anarchy. I understood all the grandeur of my mission. 
I do not deceive myself as to its difficulties ; but, with 
the counsel and support of all right-minded men, the 
devotedness of the army, and the protection which I 
shall to-morrow beseech Heaven to grant me, I hope to 
secure the destinies of France, by founding institutions 
responding to the democratic instincts of the nation, 
and the desire of a strong and respected government; 
to create a system which reconstitutes authority with¬ 
out wounding the feelings of equality, in closing any 
path of improvement; and to lay the foundation of 
an edifice capable of supporting a wise and beneficent 
liberty.” 

The Catholic religion has been restored to the Pan¬ 
theon, the hands of the priests have been strengthened, 
and the wheel of progress, to all human appearance, 
has turned backward in France a quarter of a century. 1 


1 The state of society may be gath¬ 
ered from the following paragraphs, 
taken from late Paris papers : — 

“ A deputation, consisting of some 
of the principal editors of the mod¬ 
erate press, were received by the 
president of the republic in a private 
interview, which they had requested 
for the purpose of representing the 

33 


grievances to which they were ex¬ 
posed by the rigorous censorship un¬ 
der which the newspapers have been 
placed since the revolution of the 2d 
of December. The gentleman who 
headed the deputation spoke for ful¬ 
ly half an hour, and concluded his 
speech by expressing a hope that the 
president would give some moderate 

y ^ 



258 


EUROPA. 


My conviction is, founded upon what knowledge I 
have of French history, and what I saw of the French 
people while in that country, that a liberal monarchy 
— “a throne,” as Lafayette said, “ surrounded by lib¬ 
eral institutions ” — would be better for h ranee than a 
republican form of government. Under existing cir¬ 
cumstances, a republic must be a military despotism ; 
and law must be enforced and order preserved only at 
the point of the bayonet. A wise and liberal king, 
who could command the respect and secure the affec¬ 
tion of his people, would be preferable to one who, 
though called by a less formidable title, would secure 
no respect and demand no affection. There are several 
reasons why France is not prepared for a republican 
government, and why such a government cannot exist ; 
and, — 

1. She lacks a system of general, popular education. 
A republic is the highest style of human government, 


latitude to the papers to comment 
upon passing events. Louis Napo¬ 
leon listened with great composure 
and patience; but his only answer 
was the following: ‘ Gentlemen, the 
press has already destroyed two dy¬ 
nasties. I may fall like the others; 
but I shall take care that it shall not 
be by the press.’ And with this he 
bowed them out. 

“ The Marquise d’Osmond, a Legit¬ 
imist lady, gives brilliant reunions at 
her hotel on the Boulevard de Made¬ 
leine ; and her guests would talk pol¬ 
itics. The minister of the interior 
apprised inadame that such subjects 
were disagreeable to the government. 
But madame would give soirees, and 
guests would talk of what interested 
France and the world. The minister 
of the interior insisted that politics 
must be dropped. Madame then in¬ 
vited only ladies ; but ‘ only ladies ’ 
would talk politics rather than scan¬ 
dal, and the courteous minister of the 


interior was compelled, by high au¬ 
thority, to request madame to name 
what chateau she would prefer for a 
country residence, with a postscript 
stating that she must not return to 
Paris without express presidential 
permission. 

“ M. Thiers wrote a letter to the 
minister of the interior for leave to 
return to France, offering to abstain 
from politics. The minister went to 
Louis Napoleon with the letter, and 
desired to know what answer he was 
to send. Louis Napoleon said, ‘ Give 
me the fourth volume of The History 
of the Revolution, by Thiers.’ The 
book was given, and Louis Napoleon 
pointed to a passage which he had 
marked, in which Thiers reproaches 
the emperor for not having expelled 
from France, as a measure of securi¬ 
ty, several of his political adversa¬ 
ries. ‘ Copy the passage,’ said Louis 
Napoleon, ‘ and send it to M. Thiers, 
as the answer to his application.’ ” 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 259 

and, next to a theocracy, which wo never can expect to 
see until human nature is greatly changed, is most de¬ 
sirable. But a republic is not made in a single hour. 
There are materials which cannot be made into demo¬ 
crats, and which, under a democratic government, would 
prove worthless. It is no compliment to say that a 
savage would make a good republican. We have a 
great and successful republic; but it does not follow 
that all other nations are ready to follow our example. 
The training of our Union has been peculiar, and the 
people have been. schooled into habits and principles 
which fit them for democracy. The imperfect educa¬ 
tion of the French people; the lack of a general sys¬ 
tem of education; the few who can read the name on 
the ballot which they cast into the box, — are sure 
evidences that they would make indifferent republi¬ 
cans. The idea of self-government among a people 
who have no school-houses is an absurdity. It may 
exist as a theory, but never as a fact. While a few in 
France are learned and eloquent, the mass of the peo¬ 
ple are left without the advantages of a common edu¬ 
cation, and the number wdio can read and write is com¬ 
paratively small. Under such circumstances, liberty 
will not be appreciated, and a free government will be 
productive of more evil than good. Men must be re¬ 
strained, if not by reason and education, by sword and 
bayonet. Thus the revolution which drove Louis XVI. 
from his throne to the guillotine resulted in the estab¬ 
lishment of an empire of force, which was sustained 
only by continual violations of the evident and primary 
principles of civil liberty. The revolution which sent 
Louis Philippe into exile is tending to the same result, 
and every future revolution and convulsion will only 
add new horrors to the history of that blood-drunken 
and impulsive nation. 


260 


EUROPA. 


2. France is destitute of a pure religion. No repub¬ 
lic ever lived long without a pure and exalted faith. 
The old republics which orators and poets tell about fell 
because they were destitute of a living principle, which 
is essential to the very idea of self-government. France 
has no such religion. Forty-two thousand priests — 
many of them Jesuits — are crushing the life and spirit 
of freedom; and a free, liberal government, with such 
an encumbrance, is an impossibility. The nearer you 
get to Rome, the more dense is the darkness, and the 
more abject the slavery. In that whole city, with its 
multitude of crosses, and cathedrals, and public build¬ 
ings, there is only one newspaper; and that so insig¬ 
nificant and badly printed, that no man in England, 
France, or America would read it. The false church 
rules France; and the priests are at the foundation of 
this new outburst of despotism. They cannot live and 
flourish in a republic. Their empire must be over a 
nation of slaves ; and their constant effort will be, must 
be, to degrade the government and enslave the people. 
The government of a nation always corresponds with the 
prevailing system of religion. Episcopacy cannot pre¬ 
vail in a democracy ; Congregationalism cannot succeed 
in a monarchy. There is a direct antagonism between 
them ; and if either of them should come to pass, it 
would be a paradox as yet unknown. 

Hence, to make France a republic, you must uproot 
Romanism, and overturn the dominion of the Papal 
tyrant. However the priests may act in energy, they 
always tend to a subjugation of the people, to the limi¬ 
tation of human rights, and the overthrew of political 
equality. No isolated case can refute this general 
fact; and a single case of patriotism in a priest may 
not change this general charge, the verity of which is 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 261 

/ 

known the world over, from the gates of the Vatican 
to the shores of America. Any hope of France is vain 
while this host of ecclesiastics, wedded to tyranny, and 
more powerful than the president, more influential than 
the National Assembly, more dreadful and irresistible 
than the army, continues to exist. While these men 
live in France, she cannot be free. While they mould 
the consciences of the masses, and sway the hearts of 
the rude people who throng the pleasure grounds and 
crowd the Boulevards, orators may declaim from the 
tribune, and poets may send out their lays ‘in praise 
of liberty ; but no freedom will be enjoyed. An army 
of ecclesiastics, with beads and crosses in their hands, 
is more potent in Paris to-day than the legions of 
Louis Napoleon; and the idea of a republic is a chi¬ 
mera of the imagination which will never be realized in 
France until the Protestant religion forms its founda¬ 
tion. You may bring any splendid theory or subtile 
argument to refute the notion ; hut I have the history 
of the world — facts which none can deny — to indorse 
my opinion that, in a democracy, the church must be 
Congregational, and that Episcopacy and monarchy are 
inseparable. 

3. The character of the French people is a poor 
guaranty for a permanent government. They are not 
a law-abiding people, and love change and excitement. 
They have become familiarized* to revolutions, and ex¬ 
pect them, and enter into them with the same zest that 
they pursue their pleasures. They Avould be satisfied 
with the best government among men only as long as 
it was new. King, emperor, president, are all alike 
received with blessings to-day, and curses to-morrow. 
Besides, every measure which has been taken to elevate 
the people has proved abortive. A while ago, when 


262 


EUROPA. 


the restrictions were partially removed from the press, 
the land was flooded with infamous productions; and 
obscene, blasphemous sheets fell like snow flakes into 
almost every family. The eloquent M. Coqueril, a 
member of the Chamber of Deputies, said, while we 
were in Paris, that France had no moral literature of 
her own ; and that every book in the language, fit to be 
put into the hands of children or youth, was a trans¬ 
lation. Though this statement should doubtless be 
taken with some abatement, yet it is very true that the 
literature of France is of a most debasing and corrupt¬ 
ing kind, a reflection of the moral character of the 
people. 

The fact, too, that Paris rules the nation is no ways 
favorable to the permanence of a republic. All France 
now obeys the dictation of a mob in the metropolis. 
The honest laborers of the farming districts know but 
little and care but little whether Louis Philippe or 
Louis Napoleon is at the head of government; and if 
the rabble in Paris prevail, they very readily acquiesce 
in whatever they do. Before a republic can be estab¬ 
lished, the moral tone of the people must be changed, 
and the whole present arrangement of society altered. 
Chalons, Dijon, and Lyons must have a voice in na¬ 
tional affairs, and not only a voice as at present, but an 
influence which shall be felt and respected. 

4. The public buildings, palaces, and monuments are 
indescribably associated with royalty. They lose their 
glory in the eyes of the French as soon as the king is 
removed. This obstacle to a democracy is greater than 
it at first appears, and has an influence which we should 
never imagine. There is the palace of the Tuileries, 
built by Catharine de Medicis, improved by the kings, 
the place where the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 263 

day was planned, the royal residence of a privileged 
aristocracy, which is now open to all who choose to 
visit it. The French wander through the stately pile, 
from the opera room to the consecrated chapel, but they 
find no glory in such an edifice while it continues with¬ 
out an occupant. There are the rooms of Louis XVI., 
and the saloons of Napoleon, and the chambers of 
Louis Philippe, deserted, cold, and dismal. They go 
out to Fontainebleau and St. Cloud, those retreats of 
beauty, wealth, and fashion, which have been associated 
in their minds with royalty, and return dissatisfied and 
discontented. They throng the gardens and halls of 
Versailles, but every thing reminds them of something 
that has departed. Here are seven miles of pictures in 
one pile of buildings, and whoever should give two 
minutes to the examination of each individual work of 
art, would require eight days to complete his task. 
These paintings are calculated to foster a warlike, mo¬ 
narchical spirit. They represent scenes of blood and 
glory. Napoleon figures conspicuously. Here he is at 
the battle of the Pyramids; distributing the cross of the 
legion of honor at Boulogne; making a triumphal en¬ 
try into Paris; receiving the deputies of the government 
which proclaimed him emperor; haranguing his army 
previous to battle; receiving the delegates and keys of 
the city of Vienna; giving orders before the battle of 
Austerlitz; having an interview with Francis II.; enter¬ 
ing triumphantly into Berlin; bidding adieu to Alexan¬ 
der ; being married to Maria Louisa; crossing the Alps 
over the winding Simplon; guiding his army at St. 
Bernard; storming the bridge of Lodi; at Marengo, at 
Wagram, and in a hundred scenes and places calculated 
to fire the beholder with military enthusiasm. Here 
also are pointed out the scenes in which the kings of 


264 


EUllOPA. 


France have figured, and these are all calculated to in¬ 
spire the people with a love of royalty. 

On Sunday, thousands of the people visit Versailles, 
examine these pictures, walk through the private apart¬ 
ments, behold the furniture used by kings, and the very 
beds on which they reposed, wander through the gar¬ 
dens and behold the different walks and arbors, all 
connected with monarchy and military glory. These 
buildings, erected at an immense expense, and filled 
with relics of the past, and open to the gaze of the 
most humble citizen, all plead for the restoration of 
the throne. The French walk through these kingly 
halls as through the chambers of a tomb, and see no 
beauty or glory because a royal master does not preside 
in them. As the proud old castles of Germany and the 
Rhine have no beauty and glory now, because dissevered 
from feudal customs and the age of chivalry, so these 
vast pleasure grounds and familiar resorts of the Paris¬ 
ians are mute and inelegant, because the titled dig¬ 
nity of monarchy does not abide in them. To a people 
who live mostly in the open air, the influence of this 
feeling goes farther than we can understand, and 
doubtless, to the pleasure-loving people, pleads more 
eloquently for the establishment of monarchy than do 
the privileges of freedom for a genuine republic. 

5. A republic, if established at all, must rise in the 
midst of long-established prejudices, and against the 
remonstrance of the whole continent. The power of 
early teaching is engaged on the side of the throne. 
The children of Paris have grown up with shouts of 
royalty upon their lips; and in the establishment of a 
democratic form of government, they do what nations 
are seldom known to do — break away from all the 
prejudices and usages of the past. Riding in a car, one 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 265 

day, from Versailles to Paris, a young lady of polished 
manners and educated mind, who was in the car with 
us, made this remark, which I suppose would he in¬ 
dorsed by a large majority of the people of France: 
“ A republic,” she said, “ is a good thing for America, 
but not for France; the people want a royal family 
to.love.” And while these preferences and prejudices 
exist, unchanged by education and uncontrolled by re¬ 
ligion, it is impossible to expect a free and enlightened 
republic. The throne may indeed be broken down, but 
a military despotism will take its place.- I have no faith 
in a political millennium which is to take effect in 
Europe, irrespective of the influence of education and 
religion. The ballot, box, in a nation where eight out 
of ten of the voters cannot read the name of their can¬ 
didate for office, must be of little benefit. We have in 
our land a strange monomania for republics, and we 
would set them up in New Zealand and Botany Bay, 
if we could; and ere long we shall have some good- 
natured philanthropist striving to poetize us into the 
idea, that a model republic may be made in our state 
prison, and that warden, chaplain, and sentinels may 
all be elected from among the criminals. 

On one side of the British Channel is a republic; on 
the other side is a kingdom. The kingdom is peaceful, 
happy, quiet, and liberal; the republic is agitated, il¬ 
liberal, and despotic. In the kingdom, the voice of 
conscience is heard, God reigns, and the press is free; 
in the republic, there is no public conscience, the army 
reigns, and the press is fettered. Is it the name of 
freedom for which men contend ? then let them go to 
republican France. Is it the reality for which they 
seek? then let them abide in monarchical England. 

Do not misunderstand me. I do not say that a 

3.4 w 


EUROPA. 


266 

x 

genuine republic is not better than a monarchy; nor 
do I argue that a people who can govern themselves 
should give up that government to others. But I do 
affirm that continental Europe is not prepared for a 
democracy; that republican governments, under present 
circumstances, are not only improbable, but impossible. 
The Protestant religion must precede a republic, and 
form its basis. The Papacy and freedom are inconsist¬ 
ent, and entirely irreconcilable with each other. We 
have at this moment on our soil a noble champion of 
freedom, the representative of a struggling nation, over¬ 
whelmed but not conquered; a nation that loves liberty 
and political equity, and which will secure it in the 
ultimate; a nation hemmed in by the hosts of Central 
and Western Europe, but still counting the hours to 
the morning on which shall dawn the sun of Hungarian 
independence. But this chafed and afflicted people, 
who still cry for liberty, are cheered by the Bible and 
the Protestant religion. Kossuth is a noble illustration 
of an enlightened Calvinist, and openly declares that 
from the word of God he has drawn those sublime 
sentiments which he has thundered forth in the ears of 
tyrants and their slaves. His speeches are read with 
terror in the pontifical palace at Borne, and every blow 
he strikes is felt by the mother of harlots and abomi¬ 
nations. The religious feelings of a people are more 
potent than their political preferences. If they have a 
free religion, they will have a free government. A 
Protestant community never can be long enslaved. 
They may be hunted from cave to mountain, track¬ 
ing the soil with blood, and illuminating earth with 
the flames of martyrdom; but they will still be free. 
A Catholic country never can be republican. The re¬ 
ligion of the country is an absolute monarchy, and it 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 267 

will control, pervert, and use the government for its 
own ends. The history of the world illustrates this, 
and teaches, in every lesson which it gives, that the 
politics of a nation will be the counterpart of the re¬ 
ligion which is disseminated by the professed ministers 
of God. 

We now await with anxiety the next arrivals from 
Europe. What intelligence they will bring, none can 
tell. France may submit 1 to the military dictation of 
Louis Napoleon, who now stands with his feet upon the 
constitution of his country, appealing to the army to 
aid him in striking down the liberties of the people ; or 
they may resist, and sustain the constitution, or per¬ 
chance erect a throne, and place upon it the young 
Count of Paris, son of the Duchess of Orleans. The 
other nations of Europe may quietly see the work go 
on, or may be kindled by it into a flame. But what¬ 
ever the result may be, we have confidence that it will 
eventuate in the overthrow of tyranny, and in the 
downfall of that false church of which Pius IX. is the 
head, which stands so obviously in the way of the peace 
and freedom of the world. God is arranging the 
changes which are occurring upon the earth, and or¬ 
dering them to his own glory; and political men are 
only the instruments in his hands of bringing about his 
great designs. Nations are marching and counter¬ 
marching according to his pleasure, and among them 
he is turning and overturning, that his Son may reign 
from shore to shore and from pole to pole. 

Before closing what I have to say upon France, allow 
me to utter a word upon a point in relation to which 
my statements may appear irreconcilable. I have said 


1 France has submitted. 


268 


EUKOPA. 


that the French were a gay, excitable people, ready for 
revolution and riot, and yet I have remarked, that while 
in Paris I did not see a drunken man, or witness, by 
night or day, one scene of disorder. The explanation 
which I would give to the general and universal quiet 
of Paris, in a time of peace, arises from the efficient 
regulations of the police. Paris is full of spies and 
secret officers, who check the least appearance of tu¬ 
mult. They are on every corner, in every lane, under 
every tree, in every building, and effectually overawe 
the people and keep them quiet. But this check is 
removed as soon as signs of revolution appear. The 
policemen are frequently the instigators of violence, or 
if they cast their influence on the side of order, the 
men and women who an hour ago feared them, now 
have gathered strength and numbers, and are able to 
defy the police and all their regulations. This single 
fact will explain why a people so naturally excitable 
are kept quiet and orderly in the metropolis. There 
occurred, on the 4th of July last, a singular instance 
of “ French liberty.” A gentleman had invited the 
Americans in Paris to assemble, and in a quiet manner 
celebrate with him the day. A French band was in 
attendance, and during the evening was requested to 
play the “ Marseillaise Hymn,” which had been prohib¬ 
ited by government. The soul-stirring strains floated 
out upon the air of night, and were caught by the 
secret police, who rushed in and scattered the band, and 
all the French visitors and attendants. Some one arose 
and said, “ The police may prevent a French band from 
playing the hymn, but they cannot prevent American 
citizens from singing it; ” and merry voices, in good 
round Saxon speech, sung it through, to the consterna¬ 
tion of the landlord, and the indignation of the police. 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 269 

The scene is represented by one who witnessed it as 
giving any thing but an idea of liberty. We wonder 
not, when, by the order of Louis Napoleon, the French 
lie which has hitherto appeared conspicuously upon the 
public buildings — 44 Liberte , JEgalite , Fraternity ” — 
was painted out and erased, that the Red Republicans 
should wander about chalking where the words had 
been, 44 Infanterie , Cavalerie , Artilleries 

We bid adieu to Paris — to its palaces, its triumphal 
monuments, its gay scenes, and its fading glory. We 
leave it with the conviction that it will never be a gen¬ 
uine republic until its infidelity and its Romanism give 
place to purer and more truthful dogmas. One of the 
most eloquent of orators of that convulsed and bleed¬ 
ing nation understands this, and in his truthful sen¬ 
tences we read the cause of the sad downfall of the 
land of glorious Lafayette. Lamartine, in one of those 
sublime ascents in which we admire scarcely less the 
beauty of the language than the noble utterance of the 
melancholy truth which it teaches, presents a powerful 
and painful contrast between the dying words of the 
Puritans of England and America and the sensualists 
of France. 1 In the godless lives and deaths of the 
actors in France, the world reads a lesson, and discovers 
why the republic was so soon stranded. Louis Napo¬ 
leon is no improvement on Mirabeau, Danton, Marat, 
and Robespierre; his republic — O mercy! — must re¬ 
sult like theirs. We listen to the orator. 

“Washington and Franklin fought, spoke, suffered, 
ascended, and descended in their political life of popu¬ 
larity, in the ingratitude of glory, in the contempt of 
their fellow-citizens — always in the name of God, for 


w * 


1 Bien Publique. 


270 


EUROPA. 


whom they acted; and the liberator of America died 
confiding to God the liberty of the people and his 
own soul. 

“ Sidney, the young martyr of a patriotism guilty of 
nothing but impatience, and who died to expiate his 
country’s dream of liberty, said to his jailer, ‘I rejoice 
that I die innocent towards the king, but a victim, re¬ 
signed to the King on high, to whom all life is due.’ 

“ The republicans of Cromwell only sought the way 
of God, even in the blood of battles. Their politics 
were their faith, their reign a prayer, their death a 
psalm. One hears, sees, feels that God was in all the 
movements of these great people. 

“ But cross the sea, traverse La Mancha, come to our 
times, open our annals, and listen to the last words of 
the great political actors of the drama of our liberty. 
One would think that God was eclipsed from the soul; 
that his name was unknown in the language. History 
will have the air of an atheist when she recounts to 
posterity these annihilations, rather than deaths, of 
celebrated men in the greatest year of France. The 
victims only have a God; the tribunes and lictors 
have none. 

“ Look at Mirabeau, on the bed of death. ‘ Crown 
me with flowers,’ said he; ‘ intoxicate me with per¬ 
fumes. Let me die to the sound of delicious music.’ 
Not a word of God or of his soul. Sensual philoso¬ 
pher, he desired only supreme sensualism, a last volup¬ 
tuousness in his agony. Contemplate Madame Boland, 
the strong-hearted woman of the revolution, on the cart 
that conveyed her to death. She looked contemptu¬ 
ously on the besotted people who killed their prophets 
and sibyls. Not a glance towards heaven! Only one 
word for the earth she was quitting — ‘ O Liberty! ’ 


LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 271 

“Approach the dungeon door of the Girondins. 
Their last night is a banquet; the only hymn, the 
Marseillaise. 

“ Follow Camille Desmoulins to his execution. A 
cool and indecent pleasantry at the trial, and a long 
imprecation on the road to the guillotine, were the two 
last thoughts of this dying man, on his way to the last 
tribunal. 

“ Hear Danton, on the platform of the scaffold, at 
the distance of a line from God and eternity — 6 I have 
had a good time of it; let me go to sleep.’ Then to 
the executioner — ‘ You will show my head to the peo¬ 
ple ; it is worth the trouble.’ His faith, annihilation ; 
his last sigh, vanity. Behold the Frenchman of this 
latter age ! 

“ What must one think of the religious sentiment 
of a free people whose great figures seem thus to 
march in procession to annihilation, and to whom that 
terrible minister — death — itself recalls neither the 
threatenings nor promises of God! 

“ The republic of these men without a God has 
quickly been stranded. The liberty won by so much 
heroism and so much genius has not found in France 
a conscience to shelter it, a God to avenge it, a people 
to defend it against that atheism which has been called 
glory. All ended in a soldier and some apostate repub¬ 
licans travestied into courtiers. An atheistic republi¬ 
canism cannot be heroic. When you terrify it, it 
bends; when you would buy it, it sells itself. It 
would be very foolish to immolate itself. Who would 
take any heed ] the people ungrateful, and God non¬ 
existent ! So finish atheist revolutions ! ” 


272 


EUROPA. 


XX. 

SOUTHERN FRANCE. 

We turned our backs on Paris, one bright and beau¬ 
tiful day, glad to escape from the endless round of vain 
and frivolous amusement to the quiet scenes and cool 
breezes of the country. The ride from Paris to Cha¬ 
lons takes a long day, and lies through a country finely 
diversified — now passing long rows of women toiling 
like slaves in the field, now through tunnels miles in 
length, and anon driving across beautiful vine-covered 
plains. On Sunday, the day before, a part of the road 
had been opened for the first time. Louis Napoleon — 
then the republican president, now the military despot 

— had made a speech, and signs of the festival, such as 
flags, wreaths of flowers, evergreens, and mottoes, were 
seen all along the way. We had all kinds of company 

— women, with bags containing bread, meat, and wine ; 
jabbering Frenchmen, who kept up a conversation de¬ 
lightfully unintelligible; children, who felt it duty to 
cry half the way ; and a few men who used an honest 
tongue. We arrived at Chalons, a town of about four¬ 
teen thousand inhabitants, at eleven o’clock at night, 
and forthwith crowded into an omnibus, which, after 
an unusual amount of scolding, fretting, snapping of 
the whip, rolled to a dirty hotel, where we stopped for 
the night, and at length grumbled ourselves to sleep. 

Early the next morning, we took a little dirty steamer, 
which would not be tolerated on the Hudson, for Lyons. 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 


273 


The boat started early, and breakfast was to be taken 
on board, and, very soon after starting, we went down 
below, where congregated as filthy a company as could 
be found in Naples. We asked if we could have some 
breakfast, and were answered in the affirmative. 

“Well, we will have some beefsteak.” 

“ It finished,” was the consoling reply. 

“ Well, we will have some bacon.” 

“It finished.” 

“A cup of coffee, then.” 

“Coffee all finished.” 

Thus we went on asking for on£ article after another, 
to each of which the provoking reply was given, “ It 
finished,” with the utmost coolness. At length, we 
learnt that every thing was finished but some hard 
rolls, a little butter which tasted of garlic so strongly 
that we could not eat it, and a cup of what was called 
“ tea,” and which tasted like herbs — say burdocks, 
steeped in salt water, and sugared with snuff. 

The sail down the River Saone is very beautiful, and 
the scenery all along the banks is most delightful, 
though, perhaps, not equaling the castle-guarded Rhine, 
which every traveler wishes to see. High hills, covered 
with vines, cultivated to the very summit, and sloping 
beautifully to the river; fine villages, sleeping on the 
shores; little boats gliding up and down; steamers 
now and then sweeping by, and rippling the waves to 
the flower-fringed bank on either side, — all render the 
voyage one of uninterrupted pleasure. 

At the confluence of the Saone and the Rhone lies 
the old town of 

LYONS, 

where we stopped over night. I was agreeably disap¬ 
pointed in the appearance of this place. It is a well- 

35 


274 


EUROPA. 


located, cleanly, and pleasant town, and my remem¬ 
brances of it are most agreeable. We wandered into 
the old cathedral, a monument of an expiring faith, 
saw some fine churches, bridges, and public buildings, 
and here obtained our first view of the majestic Alps, 
and old, hoary Mont Blanc, with its summit covered 
with eternal winter. 

Lyons has two hundred thousand inhabitants, many 
of whom are engaged in the manufacture of silk, an 
establishment for which we had the pleasure of visiting. 
I could but mark the common courtesy of the people 
of this town, as we moved about from one object of 
interest to another. We called at a large store, and 
inquired where we could find a silk manufactory, and 
how we could obtain admittance. The gentlemanly 
merchant, though his shop was full of customers, not 
only gave us all the information we requested, but sent 
a clerk to show us the way through the long, narrow 
streets, and introduce us to some persons who would 
admit us to what we wished to find. The town is well 
garrisoned, and from the hights on the west formidable 
fortifications look down with frowns upon the people. 
The two rivers are spanned by beautiful bridges — sus¬ 
pension, cast-iron, and stone. 

Leaving Lyons, we take the steamer again, and sail 
down the Bhone, passing beneath the very bluffs from 
which the pious Waldenses, the humble followers of 
Peter Waldo of Lyons, were cast in the fury of per¬ 
secution. In imagination, I could see these devoted 
people assembled in the glens, and catch, as we glided 
by, the smoke of their fires and their shady forms. 
Swelling from devout lips came rolling down their 
sublime song, which now rose in wild and thrilling 
cadence, and anon seemed to die away amid the lofty 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 


275 


liills. And there is seen an armed band winding up to 
the secret place, with stealthy steps and slow, to do 
there, amid the followers of God, a work of death. 

All along the banks of this river are old Roman 
remains, some of them in a tolerable state of preserva¬ 
tion. As we approach Avignon, the seat of the popes 
when they were banished from Rome, and where their 
old palace, used for a prison, still stands, we pass under 
the Bridge of the “Holy Spirit,” — the somewhat inap¬ 
propriate and singular title of the longest stone bridge 
in the world, — built six hundred years ago, the first 
bridge ever thrown across the Rhone. It has twenty-six 
arches, and is the noblest structure of its kind in France. 

We stopped an hour in 

AVIGNON, 

one of the most barbarous places I was ever in. The 
curse of the popes seemed to rest upon it. There were 
more officious porters and hackmen at the landing, more 
officious landlords waiting to take advantage of our 
ignorance, more crying children in the streets, and more 
filthy, wretched habitations than I ever saw in any one 
place in so short a time ; and of all the towns and cities 
which I visited, of but one other have I brought away 
an impression so unpleasant as of this. Other travel¬ 
ers speak very well of Avignon; but my impression 
was, that if half of the people could be shut up in the 
old Popish palace, and the other half could be set to 
work cleaning the streets, it would be a passable town. 

At dusk, we left Avignon in the cars for 

MARSEILLES, 

where we arrived at ten o’clock. As we neared the 
town, we secured our first view of the Mediterranean 


276 EUROPA. 

Sea, spread out nobly beneath a pale moonlight. We 
soon found ourselves at the Hotel des Emperors, where 
our accommodations were as fine as could he obtained 
at any public house in Boston. We, according to the 
common usage, hired our apartments, and took our 
meals when and where we wished. At this hotel, as 
at all others, no man pays for more than he eats. If 
he sits down to the table, and eats a simple breakfast, 
he is charged accordingly for each article, and not for 
his breakfast as a whole. This plan enables a traveler 
to regulate his expenses according to his means, and is 
very favorable for any one who is disposed to be tem¬ 
perate and economical. 

We here made the acquaintance of our consul, Mr. 
Hodge, who took great pains to render our stay in the 
place pleasant. Our representatives abroad are not 
always agreeable men, and the attention of government 
should be turned to the conduct of some of its officers 
on the continent. They are sent out to protect Ameri¬ 
can citizens; and they do give protection with a ven¬ 
geance. Contrary to law, many of them force the trav¬ 
eler to pay an exorbitant sum for an examination of his 
passports, and, instead of rendering him any assistance, 
are perfect plagues. The whole passport business is a 
shameful humbug. I took with me one of these docu¬ 
ments, signed by the present secretary of state, which 
I supposed would carry me through; but the powers 
that be care no more for the name of Daniel Webster 
than they do for David Crocket. Some forty and more 
consuls, police officers, and understrappers persisted in 
writing their jaw-breaking names upon it, for which 
they charged me from one franc to ten francs each. 

We were, however, received by Mr. Hodge with the 
greatest kindness, and every facility given us to see the 

































































I 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 277 

town to the best advantage. The gentlemanly officer 
came to our hotel with the latest New York papers, 
pointed out the places to be seen, gave us instruction as 
to our future course, and really conferred upon us a 
great favor. All our countrymen speak of Mr. H. in 
terms of approbation, and I am convinced that he is 
one of the few men who represent America in distant 
nations to the general satisfaction of travelers. Had 
Horace Greeley, who was so plagued with his passport 
all through Europe, visited Marseilles, he would have 
found, in our consul there, one whose urbanity and good 
nature go far to make the American in a strange land 
value and admire the government to which he owes his 
allegiance. Mr. Hodge is apparently about sixty years 
of age, frank and courteous, of great conversational 
powers, dignified in his bearing, well acquainted with 
the wants, condition, and prospects of the country to 
which he has been sent, and the hour spent with him is 
fresh and fragrant in my memory. 

Marseilles has the most outlandish appearance of any 
city to which I had arrived. In the streets there was a 
promiscuous commingling of all nations. Here were 
the turbaned Turk, the unchristian Jew, the wandering 
Gypsy, the polished Parisian, the austere Englishman, 
and the inquisitive Yankee, coming and going on this 
great broad road from London and Paris to Naples and 
Pome. As you move about the narrow streets, your 
eye every where rests on strange sights. Here a milk¬ 
man moves along the streets with his cows and goats, 
stopping at each door, and drawing milk enough for the 
family within; and they are sure that no water has di¬ 
luted that. There men and women are sitting by their 
door steps burning coffee and chocolate nuts, to be used 
by themselves, or sold to others. Here fine flower 

x 


278 


EUROPA. 


markets are held in the public streets, and there rich 
stalls of delicious fruit tempt the taste of the passer by. 
Priests and nuns are moving about, the former sleek and 
well fed; the latter, pale, modest, and saintlike. 

On a high hill on the south of the town, looking out 
to sea, is a chapel dedicated to “ Our Lady,” which is a 
curious thing in its way. It is founded upon the ruins 
of a temple of the ancient Druids, and was built six 
hundred years ago. It is small, dark, and dingy, and 
is evidently not designed for public worship. It is now 
full of votive offerings, which hang there as the evi¬ 
dences of a perverted religious sentiment. Sailors when 
in danger at sea, and men and women when sick at 
home, make vows to the Virgin, and when they recover, 
or are delivered from peril, whatever it may be, are ac¬ 
customed to bring some offering to this chapel. These 
offerings are of small value, and have reference and 
allusion to the peculiar circumstances in which the 
person has been placed. Here are many pictures — 
some representing a shipwreck, some a sick bed, some 
one scene, and some another. They are in value from 
five cents to five dollars. Here also are models of ships; 
strings of beads ; crosses; clothing which persons had 
on when saved from danger; crutches which were used 
by the lame before their recovery; wax and stone hands, 
feet, and arms, contributed by persons who had lost such 
limbs, but whose health was restored. Some of these 
articles are very old, and some date as far down as the 
present year. On the chapel is a bell, beautifully chased 
without, and weighing twenty thousand pounds. The 
tongue is eight feet long, and must weigh near half a 
tun. From the flat tower of this chapel a fine view is 
obtained. On one side is the town, with its red tile 
roofs, public buildings, churches, and its narrow, wind- 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 


279 


mg streets; beyond, imbosomed in rich foliage and 
shady trees, are scattered on the hillsides six thousand 
country seats of the more wealthy people; and behind 
all are the bleared and cloud-capped mountains. On 
the other side is seen the beautiful Mediterranean — 
first, the docks, old and new; then the harbor, in which 
is the island where is the prison in which Mirabeau was 
confined in his youth by his austere parent, which con¬ 
finement made him the ferocious man that he was. Be¬ 
yond stretches the boundless blue, and we were told 
that on every clear day we could see out forty miles, 
which statement you may credit if you please. The 
harbor was covered with neat gondolas, with fancy awn¬ 
ings, and lazy occupants lounging in the shade, while 
out to sea were seen the larger vessels, the full-rigged 
ship, and the puffing, bustling little steamers. 

On Sunday, I embarked for Naples on board the 
Ercolano. I was somewhat reconciled to the necessity 
of sailing on that day, from the fact that I could spend 
the time as profitably on the deep as on the land, amid 
the parades of soldiers, the firing of cannon, and the 
ringing of bells. The first sound I heard in the morn¬ 
ing was the discordant echo of the drum, and the last 
which fell on my ear, as we faded from the land, was the 
boisterous shout of sailors on the wharf. So, muttering 
as well as I could, and to the best tune I knew, — 

“ Thy temple is the arch 

Of yon unmeasured sky ; 

Thy Sabbath the stupendous march 
Of grand eternity,” — 

I saw the busy seaport losing itself in the dim and 

% 

misty distance. 

I was amused now and then in noticing the habits of 


280 


ECEOPA. 


i » r r l » • 

the people. As we left the landing, a pleasant scene 
took place between some friends who had come down 
to see others off. When the intimation was given that 
we were about to start, these French people fell to kiss¬ 
ing each other indiscriminately, fathers saluting sons, 
and mothers embracing daughters, brothers bringing 
their huge beards together, and a universal smacking 
taking place. Though I confess such a scene to be not 
exactly to my taste, yet I looked upon it as a beautiful 
exhibition of affection and regard, much better than the 
want of respect which is so often found among relatives 
and friends among us. 

We had on board the Ercolano two full-grown, com¬ 
pletely blossomed white friars, the first genuine ones I 
had seen. I had noticed monkery and priestcraft in 
Paris, but it was evident that the two fat, lazy, careless 
creatures we had with us trained in a company different 
from any I had seen. They were on their way to Rome, 
and one of them was the superior of his order, and 
was distinguished from his fellow by a ring, engraven 
with some cabalistic character, which he wore upon 
his finger. In other respects they were attired alike. 
They had on wooden sandals; white flannel browsers of 
the coarsest texture and the most careless cut; a walk¬ 
ing cloak, or chemise, or gown, which reached to the 
feet, of the same material; a rough leather belt around 
the body, to which were hung a few beads, a wooden 
crucifix, a small wooden skull, and a few other mean¬ 
ingless trinkets. On the head was a black nightcap, 
or something which would answer for it, covering a 
shaven crown. They seemed to be men of little energy 
or character. A blank, fadeless look, and an indiffer¬ 
ence to every thing around, seemed to characterize 
them, and they were objects of pity and contempt. 


SOUTHERN FRANCE. 


281 


The sail down the Mediterranean is delightful. At 
one time, high hills and bluffs project out into the deep- 
blue wave, and then come sloping banks, at the base of. 
which little towns and villages cluster, and whose4ides 
are covered with verdure. On some of the hills can be 

r •*' 

seen the ruins of ancient fortifications which have fallen 
into decay, and which declare to the stranger the les¬ 
sons of his own frailty. 

Our passage down- was rendered pleasant by the 
formation of new acquaintances, as w T e had on board 
several Americans and Englishmen with whom we had 
not met before. The time passed away in animated 
discussions upon various subjects, and those of us who 
loved the sea were not overjoyed when our steamer 
approached the land. 

36 x* 


282 


EUROPA. 


XXI. 

GENOA. 

After a passage of twenty-two hours, we entered the 
harbor of Genoa, and shot up towards the town, which 
is situated on the side of the hill, in a semicircle, form¬ 
ing a beautiful amphitheater of palaces. At a dis¬ 
tance, the town looks small, and one would hardly 
imagine that it contained one hundred and fifteen 
thousand inhabitants, crowded into its toppling dwell¬ 
ings, which are piled story upon story, until they seem 
almost unable to stand alone. Passing around the 
light-house, we lay under the guns of the battery two 
or three hours, while some useless formality about our 
passports was taking place, when the gens d'armes gra¬ 
ciously permitted us to land, extorting from us a fee, 
of course. We at length escaped from gens d'armes , 
tide waiters, commissioners, valets, and beggars, and 
reached the Hotel de la Ville, which was formerly a 
palace, built in Tuscan style, with a rough stone base¬ 
ment, upon which rose an elegant structure, to the 
hight of some five or six stories. 

It was fete day when we arrived, and the lads and 
lasses were all out, arrayed in holiday attire. The lat¬ 
ter were neatly dressed. The headdress was especially 
beautiful and becoming. It consisted of a thin white 
crape or muslin scarf, thrown over the head, falling 


GENOA. 


283 


down upon the shoulders, and reaching nearly to the 
feet. These pretty women were moving through the 
streets, hanging on the arms of gayly-dressed soldiers, 
who are paid only a few cents a day for their services, 
or riding with fast horses along the crowded thorough¬ 
fare, and presenting a spectacle at once unusual and 
animating. 

The churches of Genoa are very superb, and are 
filled with all sorts of trumpery, from the bones of a 
dead dog to a marble Beelzebub. The old cathedral is 
built in alternate layers of black and white marble, and 
is an interesting, though not a beautiful building. 
Here the superstitious Catholics claim to keep the 
bones of John the Baptist in a little chapel, under a 
marble sarcophagus. The bones are in an iron box, 
enclosed in another of marble. I ran my cane through 
a hole in the box, but could feel nothing like bones, nor 
could I start the old saint into life again, though I con¬ 
jured him to speak. A great amount of money is raised 
upon these bones once a year, when they are taken out 
and a frolic held over them. In this cathedral is kept 
a dish, probably of glass, which the monks say is formed 
of a single emerald, called the Sacra Catino. Some 
affirm that it was presented by the Queen of Sheba to 
Solomon ; others declare that it was the dish in which 
the paschal lamb was put at the great feast; and others 
still assure us that it was the dish in which Joseph of 
Arimathea caught the flowing blood of Jesus as he 
hung upon the cross. What nonsense! 

Over the door of one church I saw the unhallowed 
inscription, “ Indulgentia plenaria quotidiana perpetual 
The streets were filled with priests and friars, black, 
white, and gray, dressed very much like those we saw 
on board the steamer, but more filthy, many of them 


284 


EUROPA. 


barefoot, and contrasting strongly with the well-fed, 
portly priests, with their nice black robes and cocked 
hats. 

Genoa has been called the city of palaces, and these 
are all open to public inspection. Strangers from every 
clime wander through halls still elegant in their deser¬ 
tion, and beautiful in their decay. Any person may 
rent a palace at a less cost than he can hire a decent 
tenement among us, and beggars now tread where nobles 
used to live. 

We tried to inquire about Christopher Columbus, but 
were only laughed at for our pains. Nobody seemed to 
know him, or to be familiar with a name which is asso¬ 
ciated with the greatest nation in the world, and which 
is respected by every man of science and erudition. A 
few only in that city know that that name is connected 
with an enterprise more honorable than the most glo¬ 
rious victory ever won upon the fields of blood. 

The people of Genoa are very fond of amusements. 
Feast days and festivals occur so often that one can 
hardly keep the run of them, and operas and concerts 
are in full blast through most of the year. A recent 
tourist 1 relates a circumstance to show the fondness of 
the Italians for music and mirth, which he himself wit¬ 
nessed in the opera. Clara Novello, the prima donna 
of the season, was singing and acting, when, in the pit 
and directly before the stage, 44 a man was suddenly 
seized with convulsions. His limbs stiffened; his eyes 
became set in his head, and stood wide open, staring at 
the ceiling like the eyes of a corpse; while low and 
agonizing groans broke from his struggling bosom. 
The prima donna came forward at that moment, but 


* Headley, Letters from Italy, 


GENOA. 


285 


seeing this livid, death-stamped face before her, sud¬ 
denly stopped, with a tragic look and start, that, for 
once , was perfectly natural. She turned to the bass 
singer, and pointed out the frightful spectacle. He 
also started back in horror, and the prospect was that 
the opera would terminate on the spot; but the scene 
that was just opening was the one in which the prima 
donna was to make her great effort, and around which 
the whole interest of the play was gathered, and the 
spectators were determined not to be disappointed be¬ 
cause one man was dying, and so shouted, 4 Go on! go 
on! ’ Clara Novello gave another look towards the 
groaning man, whose whole aspect was enough to freeze 
the blood, and then started off in her part. But the 
dying man grew worse and worse, and finally sprang 
bolt upright in his seat. A person sitting behind him, 
all-absorbed in the music, immediately placed his hands 
on his shoulders, pressed him down again, and held him 
firmly in his place. There he sat, pinioned fast, with 
his pale, corpse-like face upturned, in the midst of that 
gay assemblage, and the foam rolling over his lips, while 
the braying of trumpets and the voice of the singer 
drowned the groans that were rending his bosom. At 
length, the foam became streaked with blood as it 
oozed through his teeth, and the convulsive starts grew 
quicker and fiercer. But the man behind held him 
fast, while he gazed in perfect rapture on the singer, 
who now, like the ascending lark, was trying her lofti¬ 
est strain. As it ended, the house rang with applause, 
and the man who had held down the poor writhing 
creature could contain his ecstasy no longer, and lifting 
his hands from his shoulders, clapped them rapidly to¬ 
gether three or four times, crying out over the ears of 
the dying man, ‘Brava, brava!’ and then hurriedly 


286 


EUROPA. 


placed them back again, to prevent his springing up in 
his convulsive throes. The song ended, and the gens 
d’armes entered, and carried him speechless and lifeless 
out of the theatre.” 

I slept one or two nights in Genoa, or tried to sleep. 
The hotel was a perfect bedlam; the streets were full 
of all sorts of noises; and in the house opposite the 
narrow passage was kept up a constant jabbering, 
which reminded me of the hideous jargon of the North 
American Indians, and more than once did I dream of 
the scalping-knife and the tomahawk, and start up to 
hear the merry laugh of a dozen young creatures, who, 
a few feet from my window, in the next hotel, were 
. shouting, screaming, yelling, and dancing with all their 
might. When the people of Genoa sleep I do not 
know, but presume, from what I saw, that they are 
quite successful in turning night into day. 


LEGHORN — CIYITA YECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 287 


/ 


XXII. 

LEGHORN —PISA —CIYITA VECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 

We took the steamer from Genoa one evening, at six 
o’clock, with the fair prospect of a dreadfully unfair 
night. The winds howled; the sky was dark and 
overcast; and the waves rolled and tumbled, dashed 
forward and backward, rose and fell, as if angry with 
themselves and the little puffing - steamer which was 
endeavoring to struggle through them. Directly over 
the cabin, in which about thirty of us were pent up, 
w T ere six horses, which kept up a continual kicking 
within a few inches of our aching heads. Once, dur¬ 
ing the night, the stalls in which they were confined 
gave way, and the affrighted animals went capering 
about the deck, to the consternation of the passengers 
below, who knew not the cause of the commotion 
above. The whole company, with a few exceptions, 
sprang up, supposing we were going to the bottom; 
and as they huddled together near the door, jabbering 
in five or six different languages, the scene was inde¬ 
scribably ludicrous. Order was at length restored, the 
horses were captured, and the steamer, in due form, 
went bustling into Leghorn about sunrise. At the 
Hotel San Marco, we found one John Smith, who 
served us with a decent breakfast, after which we 
walked about the town. Leghorn is a dull place, the 
stores and houses all bearing marks of decay. Busi¬ 
ness seems to be stagnant and dead, and we moved 
about amid deserted habitations and silent streets. 


288 


EUROPA. 


About twelve miles from Leghorn is Pisa, a town of 
much interest, containing about twenty-nine thousand 
inhabitants, out to which we went in the cars. The 
town was preparing to celebrate the day of its patron 
saint, which is the 16th of June. A grand illumina¬ 
tion was to take place, and such preparations, on a 
scale so grand, I never saw before. The saint to be 
celebrated is San Eanieri, who died 1356. He lived a 
vile and wicked life, abandoned by God and all things 
good. Before his death, however, he became an exam¬ 
ple of piety. We wish we could say as much for all 
the canonized saints. He was indefatigable in his la¬ 
bors for the poor, and died respected and beloved by 
all. The preparations made to celebrate this day were 
fine. Every house seemed to be covered with frame¬ 
work from which floods of light were to blaze out. 

The great objects of interest are the cathedral, bap¬ 
tistry, leaning tower, and Campo Santo. The cathedral 
is one of the most elegant in Italy. The doors are of 
massive bronze work. The interior is of alternate 
layers of black and white marble, giving it a unique 
appearance. The dome is finely frescoed, and fine 
paintings adorn the walls. In the nave hangs sus¬ 
pended a chandelier, once beautiful, but now black and 
time-worn, and suspended from the center of the dome 
above by a black, dirty rope. This chandelier suggest¬ 
ed to Galileo the idea of the pendulum, which has 
since been applied to so much advantage to the world. 
The pulpit is of ancient order, and is a superb struc¬ 
ture of richly-carved marble; and the whole church is 
wealthy with paintings, mosaics, and sculpture. It is 
in the form of a Latin cross, and is bedecked with or¬ 
naments magnificent and costly. Candles bum on the 
altars, and music echoes along the deserted aisles. As 




LEGHORN — CIVITA YECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 289 


we entered, a monk, with his face covered with a black 
nightcap, with holes for his hateful eyes to glare out, 
came to beg, and, in a piteous, whining tone, entreated 
us to give something to the church. 

Near the duomo is the baptistry, which was built in 
the eleventh century. It is a large building, in the 
form of an immense dome, which rises to a hight of 
one hundred and seventy-nine feet. The external and 
internal appearance of the structure has great effect. 
The pulpit is a hexagon, and rests upon nine pillars, 
and is covered with basso-rilievo work. The basin is in 
the middle, and is large enough for ten or fifteen per¬ 
sons to occupy at one time. The whole appearance of 
the basin and the building gives unequivocal evidence 
that immersion was here performed. The same remark 
may be made of the baptistry at Florence, which is 
constructed on a similar plan. 

Close at hand is the wonderful leaning tower, which 
has seven bells, and is two hundred and seventy-eight 
feet high. We ascend by a winding staircase, and 
from the top enjoy a fine prospect of the surrounding 
country. The deviation is from fifteen to eighteen 
feet; and as I stood looking down, the danger of fall¬ 
ing appeared so great, that I was glad to descend as 
soon as possible. One naturally clings to the rail of 
the gallery as he looks down from the dizzy elevation 
upon the earth beneath, which seems to be passing 
from under him. Whether the tower was built as it 
is, in a leaning position, or whether the foundations 
have settled, is a matter of question, nor can an exam¬ 
ination settle the point. I incline to the latter opinion, 
which accords with the view taken by most travelers. 

This group of buildings, with the Campo Santo, 
forms one of the most interesting objects of study and 

37 y 


290 


EUROPA. 


interest that can be found in Italy. The leaning tower 
is in itself a wonder, and the whole group, where mil¬ 
lions of dollars have been expended, deserves a visit 
from every person who goes within a hundred miles 
of the spot. 

Returning to Leghorn a while, we wandered about, 
and at length went down to the steamer, determined 
never to set foot on the soil of that place again. The 
ways in which the people contrive to get at the pockets 
of the traveler are legion. You are compelled to pay 
as you enter the port, and as you leave it; as you go to 
a hotel, and when you come away, shaking off the dust 
of your feet. You can neither eat, drink, or sleep, 
walk, or play, without being charged for it. Contrary 
to our expectations, 'sve were thrown into this place 
again, a while after, and took breakfast at Hotel du 
Nord, where we were detained, abused, fleeced, and, at 
length, fed. Before we went away, the keeper of the 
hotel, or rather a servant, for the keeper was a woman, 
requested us to write some recommendation in his com¬ 
monplace hook, that he might show it to other Ameri¬ 
can travelers who should happen to fall into the hands 
of the official and unofficial plunderers of Leghorn. 
This was too much; and one of our company sat down 
and wrote the following lines, to which we all appended 
our names: — 

Five strangers, from a foreign shore, 

Took breakfast at Hotel du Nord; 

Our names, which may be found below, 

Our homes and destination show. 

We’ve had our trials and vexations, 

Delayed by Tuscan regulations. 

Taxed, cheated, foiled at every stage, 

Scarce can we contain our rage. 

Patience ; a few short months, and we 
Shall hail a land of Liberty. 


LEGHORN —CIYITA YECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 291 

We gave the book to the servant, who could not 
read a word of it, and, supposing it to be, instead of 
the truth as it was, a lying compliment to his house, 
done up in poetry, and signed by five respectable 
names, took it with a profusion of bows and nods, 
unintelligible thanks, and gracious smiles. 

Leaving Leghorn, after our first visit, we set sail for 
Civita Vecchia. As we went out of the harbor, a 
boat manned with galley slaves rowed across our bows. 
There were fifteen of them, chained together, and to 
the boat. They were dressed in red fiannel frocks, and 
wore caps of the same material. They were all mur¬ 
derers ; and it would be interesting to converse with 
them, and draw out the personal history of each, and 
learn how, step by step, the amiable and virtuous young 
man descended from respectability to the daring deed 
for which he wears the chain and lives in prison. 

CIVITA VECCHIA, 

the next town at which the steamer stops, is one of the 
most disagreeable in Italy. I said there was one place 
worse than Avignon ; this is it. We were not allowed 
to land on our way down the coast, but unfortunately 
went there on our return. We arrived in a dili¬ 
gence from Rome about midnight, and pursued our 
way to the Hotel Orlando, the best in the place, but 
wonderfully poor at that. We found all asleep; but, 
by storming the citadel, we at length aroused the in¬ 
mates, who came down to us grumbling and scolding 
in a most furious manner. By dint of Italian, French, 
English, and Cossack, we finally made them understand 
that we wished to go to bed; but for a long time it 
remained doubtful whether we should succeed. An¬ 
tonio called to Alfieri, and Alfieri shouted to Scipio 


292 


ETJROPA 


and Pompeius, and they together ran after Signore, 
who came, at length, and put us four into two as dirty 
chambers as w T as ever the lot of unoffending travelers 
to fall into. However, we had each a bed, minus 
sheets and pillows; and, as the insides were altogether 
too had, we threw ourselves upon the outsides, and in 
a moment were as comfortably asleep as filth and fleas 
would allow. We might have remained asleep about 
ten minutes, when a disturbance in the entry gave signs 
of an assault upon our dormitory. A violent pounding 
upon the door was heard, and a man and woman, in an 
unknown tongue, demanded admittance. What was 
to pay we did not know, and, for a while, we let them 
work. But it was “ no go,” and my companion, in no 
enviable mood, sprang from the bed, exclaiming, “ I’ll 
know what the matter is ! ” and, throwing open the 
door, he confronted the servants, with sheets and pil¬ 
lows for our beds. Giving them a good round scolding, 
of which they understood not a word, he shoved the 
door in their faces, turned the key, and threw himself 
upon the bed, which creaked and groaned beneath the 
burden, while the discomfited servants went away puz¬ 
zled to know why Signore should wish to sleep in a 
bed full of fleas without sheets. 

In the morning, our baggage was examined by the 
custom-house officers. Mine passed without much 
trouble; but a friend had in his trunk an oration 
which he had delivered a while since in New York, 
before some society that requested its publication. 
The official found a copy of this printed document, 
and thumbed it over a while without being able to 
know whether it was incendiary or not. His eye was 
attracted by the word “ Society,” on the title page, and 
his mind conjured up some terrible danger in having 


LEGHORN — Cl VITA VECCHIA —BAY OF NAPLES. 293 

that little pamphlet in a man’s trunk going through 
Italy. Thus he detained us an hour or two, when he 
told the owner to call at the police office at a given 
hour,—I believe the next day, — and he could have his 
book. But we declined waiting so long ; and for aught 
I know, the authorities of that abominable place are 
gravely investigating the contents of my friend’s ora¬ 
tion up to the present time. 

Pursuing our way down the Mediterranean, we at 
length arrived at Naples. We were called up at sun¬ 
rise to gaze upon the finest prospect ever presented 
to mortal sight. We had passed a troublous night. 
Nameless insects had been disturbing our dreams, and 
it was with unfeigned delight that we heard the cry, 
“ All up! We are entering the bay.” I went on deck ; 
and though I had expected a beautiful view, the reality 
more than equaled the idea which I had pictured to 
my imagination. The full, yellow moon was setting 
behind us, in the dim and shadowy west. On one side 
was Naples, and all around the watery amphitheater 
were stretched goodly cities in one continuous and un¬ 
broken course. In the background towers Vesuvius, 
the object of deepest interest, like a giant amid its 
rocky compeers, a dim and indistinct cloud hovering 
around its summit. The first view of Vesuvius was 

not what I had imagined; and Rev. Mr.-, at my 

side, exclaimed, “ What a cheat!” and turned away, 
half vexed that the old mountain was not bellowing, 
and thundering, and pouring down its torrents of lava 
upon the plains below. We were all unprepared for 
its quiet, modest, inviting look, though we might have 
expected it. But as we gazed, the peak seemed to rise 
higher, the cloud appeared to expand, and in a little 
while, with the slight aid of imagination, I confess I 

y 



294 


EUROPA. 


had the Vesuvius of “ the books ” before me, and was 
disappointed no longer. 

The Bay of Naples, gazed upon from the sea, or from 
the surrounding shores, is an object of great interest; 
and long we stood enraptured with the charming ar¬ 
rangements of nature and art. The beauty of the bay 
arises from a variety of circumstances. Its form is reg¬ 
ularly curved, and all around are shining palaces, look¬ 
ing down upon its shores, and off upon its waters. 
Behind the towns and villages, the hills and mountains 
rise abruptly, and seem to stand as high towers charged 
with molten torrents, which they are ready to pour out 
upon the surrounding country. 

On reaching the harbor of Naples, we were per¬ 
plexed a while with the inconvenient and unnecessary 
arrangements of the port. Every thing seems to be 
designed to extract money from the traveler, and de¬ 
lay him in his journey. The landlords and the police 
seem to have entered into copartnership to pillage the 
purses of all who wish to enter the city. We escaped, 
at length, from the “ port plague,” and soon found our¬ 
selves in a comfortable hotel, where the gentlemanly 
proprietor used every endeavor to render our visit 
agreeable. 

Naples has about three hundred and fifty thousand 
inhabitants, and is a very fine city. On approaching it 
from the sea, one would hardly imagine how many hu¬ 
man beings are huddled together. The streets are 
narrow; the houses rise story on story, until they lose 
themselves from the view of the gazer, and both streets 
and houses are crowded with as miserable and dirty a 
class of beings as can be found in Italy. The lower 
order of Neapolitans are very meanly clad, and ap¬ 
proach a step nearer barbarism than any I had 


LEGHORN—CIYITA YECCHIA — BAY OF NAPLES. 295 

previously seen. The men wear a coarse crash shirt, 
with coarse trowsers, which are tied around the waist 
with a cord. An old straw hat completes the rig. The 
legs and feet, from the knees downward, the arms, 
from the elbows, and the shoulders, brown and sun¬ 
burnt, are generally uncovered. As to shoes, they are 
a luxury or a superfluity which the poorer people sel¬ 
dom indulge in. The women dress correspondingly, 
and are seen moving through the streets singing, with 
loads upon their shoulders which would almost break 
the back of a donkey. 

The better class, however, dress very neatly; and on 
gala days the crowded streets present a gay and bril¬ 
liant spectacle. The soldiers in uniform, with waving 
plumes, and the young women, with their muslin scarfs, 
and gay, laughing features, give a showy appearance to 
the whole town. 

I found a home for a few days at “ Hotel de New 
York,” my windows looking out upon the mountain 
and the bay. Hour after hour have I sat and gazed 
upon that fine sheet of water, terminated on the right 
by Cape Misenum, and on the left by Cape Minerva, 
and closed in and guarded by the Island of Capri, 
while a succession of hills sloping to its shores forms 
what the Neapolitans call the “water crater.” 

The city of Naples is twelve miles in circuit, with 
ample fortifications; three hundred churches; forty 
asylums for the poor and orphans; with a vast variety 
of objects connected with the past and the present, to 
interest the traveler, and make him feel that the sen¬ 
timent of the Neapolitan enthusiast, who exclaims, 
“ Vedi Napoli , e poi mori ,” is not altogether a vain 
boast, or a mistaken idea, as we shall find in a few 
succeeding chapters. 


296 


EUROPA. 


XXIII. 

RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 

Having secured lodgings in tlie city, we engaged a 
valet de place , who told us to call him Joseph, and 
went out to explore the old ruins in the vicinity. 
The city was very gay and cheerful, it being the feast 
day of some saint, whose name and virtues I did not 
learn. The streets were full of people, and it was with 
some difficulty that we threaded our way out into the 
country. The festivity of the occasion brought out in 
squadron the famous Italian lazzaroni, who met us at 
every step, and ran along after us, sometimes for miles. 
This class of persons are a great source of annoyance 
to travelers. They rush out from the roadside, men, 
women, and children, uttering the most piteous cries, 
and hold up a torn hat or a filthy hand to receive 
the penny which you throw into it. Of all the speci¬ 
mens of humanity I ever saw, these were the most mis¬ 
erable. Deformed, crippled, bleeding, they were at 
once the most disgusting and pitiable creatures imagi¬ 
nable. Suffering and dying by the wayside, they cast 
imploring looks and utter imploring cries to every trav¬ 
eler. No human heart can withstand the appeals made 
by these objects of destitution and want. But while 
many are really needy, the great mass are undeserving 
of charity. They are strong men and women, who 
might work if they were disposed, but prefer to prac¬ 
tice imposition upon the stranger. They perform all 


RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


297 


kinds of tricks to secure a little money, and are ready 
to steal at the most favorable opportunity. We saw 
blind beggars who could see if a piece of foreign money 
was given them; cripples who could run faster than 
our horses while there remained the least chance of 
their receiving a gift; dumb men who could curse you 
in two or three different languages if you refused to 
aid them. 

Escaping from these, and riding by the palaces of the 
king, the theaters, and several noble buildings, we leave 
the city by the grotto of Posilippo, a road dug out 
under a mountain, half a mile long, one hundred and 
fifty feet high, and wide enough for three carriages to 
drive abreast. It was hewn out at an immense expense 
of time and labor, and was probably the work of slaves; 
perhaps of the early Christians, who, incurring the 
displeasure of the pagans, were sent here to toil and 
die on the public road. As we entered the grotto or 
tunnel, a hermit rushed out, an odd-looking, dehuman¬ 
ized being, who besought charity. We gave him a 
contemptuous look, and drove on. 

Emerging from the grotto, we ride through a coun¬ 
try which bears various marks of volcanic influence. 
Hills have been cast up rudely by the wayside, and 
mountains overhang which look as if they had recently 
been disgorged from the bowels of the earth. The 
ruins of houses which have been shaken down by 
eruptions appear along the way, broken aqueducts and 
baths, and all the evidences of spoiled art and ruined 
luxury. On the side of one of these volcanic hills we 
saw at work, hewing stone, a party of convicts, clad in 
thin blue clothes, with a chain passing from the waist 
to the foot. These convicts are not obliged to work. 
They receive pay for what they do — five or six cents 

38 


298 


EUROPA. 


a day. Those who are laborious and diligent are re¬ 
leased, about one fourth of their time being remitted. 
Thus, if a man is sentenced for twelve years, he not 
only receives his wages, but is liberated at the expira¬ 
tion of nine years. A guard of soldiers were stationed 
over them, so as to render escape impossible. 

After an hour’s ride, we arrived at the ancient town 
of Puteoli, where Paul tarried seven days, when he was 
on his way to Pome. The old Bridge of Caligula, now 
in ruins, remains, and the pier at which Paul landed is 
pointed out. The path which led to the Appian Way, 
and that famous old road itself, are visible. I seemed 
to dream, to be so near scenes and places consecrated 
by their connection with the labors and sufferings of 
the great apostle to the Gentiles. The interest felt in 
palaces, cathedrals, and volcanoes died away when we 
arrived amid the memorials of the servant of Jesus. 

Passing through Puteoli, we rode along the bor¬ 
ders of Lake Avernus, surrounded by forests in which 
Strabo says the Cimmerians, a race of fortune-tellers, 
lived in caves never lighted by the rays of the sun. 
On the banks is the Temple of Apollo, where iEneas 
went to consult the sibyls and the gods ; and the forest 
behind is that in which he found the golden branch. 
The lake is small, its noxious gases said to be fatal 
to the respiration of birds, and its depth eighty-five 
fathoms. It is a very respectable frog pond, and is 
more romantic in the lays of the old poets than in any 
reality. 

We went down into Sibyls’ Cave, which retreats 
from the shores of Averno, and enters the bowels of 
the mountain. Leaving the glorious sunlight, the clear 
air, and the beautiful scenes of nature, we took torches 
made of hemp, rosin, and tar, four feet long and two 


RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


299 


inches square, and descended through a long, dark pas¬ 
sage, begrimed with soot and smoke, slimy and slippery, 
damp as death, and hissing with reptiles. This long 
passage leads to the Chambers and Baths of the Sibyls, 
which were once dry, and beautifully decorated and 
frescoed. By a late irruption, water has been let in to 
the depth of about two feet. We were forced to ex¬ 
plore these chambers on the shoulders of men. Sev¬ 
eral hideous, dirty, hlthy-looking old fellows had fol¬ 
lowed us some miles for the purpose of taking us in; 
and when w r e had reached the water, we mounted each 
the shoulders of a cicerone, and on we went. The 
scene w r as a most laughable one, and, withal, somewhat 
serious. The waters splash, as the men pass along; 
the torches gleam and cast out an unearthly light; our 
human horses keep up an incessant sound, half way 
between a snort and a groan; and the caverns below 
us seem to echo with the music of the sibyls, whose 
beautiful forms have departed, but whose spirit voices 
seem to linger in their ancient halls. I do not wonder 
that one traveler who went in in this way began to 
“ imagine that he was sitting astride the devil’s neck, 
and being borne along the road to the infernal world.” 

Our friends at home would have enjoyed the spectacle, 
could they have stood in the Sibyls’ Chamber, and seen 

us enter—Mr.-dragging his legs in the water, 

and Rev. Dr. M. striking his nice white hat against the 
smutty ceiling, until it was nearer black than white, 
each holding on to the grizzly hair of the animal we 
rode, expecting every moment he would stumble and 
pitch us we knew not where. 

Having reached the chambers, we reposed a while 
where once Nero came to see the sibyls; then remount¬ 
ing, we soon found ourselves again in the world, safe 



300 , 


EUROPA. 


escaped from Tartarus, well satisfied with our ride and 
with what we had seen. The men who had run after 
our carriage, and had carried us down into the cave, 
demanded only a few cents for their labor, which we 
cheerfully paid, though I freely confess that riding such 
horses is not to my taste. 

Leaving the lake, we passed on to the Baths of Nero, 
where a rude old man, stripping off his clothes, de¬ 
scended ninety feet, by a winding passage, and came 
back covered with -perspiration, and fainting with ex¬ 
haustion, bringing a bucket of boiling water from the 
boiling springs, in which we cooked an egg. We could 
not enter ten feet without being driven back by the 
sulphureous heat which is emitted by the volcanic ele¬ 
ments below. Two or three rooms remain, and exhibit 
traces of former beauty and art; but the whole grotto 
now bears more of the appearance of being the cave of 
some frightful hag, who lives upon the fears of others, 
than the royal baths of a great emperor. 

Moving on, we came in succession to the Temples of 
Diana, Mercury, and Venus, which are now in ruins, 
and have few traces of their former magnificence. The 
capille de Venus, or “Venus hair,” is creeping over 
the broken walls, and covers the spot where once stood 
the altar. The green lizard and the asp have made 
their abodes here, and the hollow echo of the past 
comes back from the walls and broken domes. We 
reach next the Baths of Venus, which retain more of 
their original beauty, and which, with the spacious 
anterooms, are covered with bass-reliefs and frescoes 
of much perfection. 

We next reach the immense reservoir connected with 
the Julian Port. This vast relic of Eoman times was 
built to supply fresh water to the fleet which anchored 


RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


301 


in the bay. The water was brought from the higher 
land, and here reserved until it should be needed. The 
arches of the reservoir are supported on forty-six im¬ 
mense pillars, and the whole structure must have re¬ 
quired a great amount of labor and time. In this 
vicinity are the Elysian Fields and the River Styx, 
immortalized by Virgil, and so often sighed over by 
romantic young men, when they begin to read the 
classics. 

Nero's prisons are also near. They look like the 
bloody monster — fit memorials of his fiendish cru¬ 
elty. His baths, hot and cold, were not enough to 
wash his stains away. We reach the entrance of the 
prisons, or Hundred Chambers, as they are called, by a 
long, narrow street, in which half-naked men and wo¬ 
men are at work, play, or asleep, lying down on the 
side of the way, with pigs and dogs, defying you, in 
many cases, to tell which is man and which is beast. 
The prisons are under the spot where once stood the 
villa in which lived Julius Caesar, and in which Nero 
killed his mother, like the fiend he was. It does not 
remain to perpetuate the memory of the wrongs com¬ 
mitted in it; they are recorded on the pages of history. 
We entered several of the chambers. They are about 
eight feet wide and twenty long. A passage leads from 
these prisons, which are wholly under ground, to the 
sea, through which prisoners were taken, and cast 
down, mangled and torn, into the waters beneath. 
The very walls seem to sweat blood, as we passed from 
dungeon to dungeon, unadorned by a window or inlet 
for the fresh air, and lighted only by the flambeau car¬ 
ried by our guide. Criminals and Christians, confined 
for vices and virtues, have died here, and these walls 
have echoed with curses and prayers. 

z 


802 


EUROPA. 


As we came down the hill, we stopped a while to 
rest at the door of a tolerable-looking house, and in a 
moment were surrounded with women and young girls. 
I counted twenty-one at a time, varying from ten to 
ninety years of age. Their object was to beg, which 
they did in an unknown tongue. One or two young 
girls went away and brought us simple bouquets of 
flowers, which they wished us to purchase. These bou¬ 
quets were of the rudest character, and some of them 
as unsavory as mullen. When we left, two young 
creatures ran by the side of our carriage nearly two 
miles. One of them was begging for my handkerchief, 
which I certainly should have thrown to her, had I not 
been so far from another, and the day was so hot, that 
such an article was indispensable. She was a dark- 
complexioned, black-haired creature, with eyes fit for a 
princess, which sparkled as she ran along the road, 
casting up the dirt with her bare feet, and tossing back 
the hair from an intellectual forehead. 

On returning towards Naples, we visited several 
ruins at Pozzuoli — the ruined Temple of Justice, with 
its marble pavements, its broken columns, forty-two of 
which were from the land of mythology, the large basin 
yet remaining in which the blood of human victims was 
caught, its arena and its marble seats almost as perfect 
as ever. The Temple of Neptune, a vast edifice, gives 
one a good idea of an old Roman amphitheater. Its 
form is oval, and the walls rise ninety feet from the 
level of the arena. Seats are all around, rising one 
above another to the top of the wall; and a canvas 
was stretched over the whole, for a roof to protect from 
the sun. Twelve thousand persons could be seated 
with ease, and perhaps many more. In vaults below 
were cells and dungeons, in which men and beasts 


RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


303 


were kept preparatory to the gladiatorial exhibitions. 
On a slide, or elevator, they were lifted up into the 
arena, and man and beast stood face to face. Many a 
Christian has been torn to pieces on this pavement, 
while his death cries have furnished amusement for 
the degraded people. The very cell in which St. Jan¬ 
uary, the idol of the people, was chained, is pointed 
out, and the pillar, now fallen, is shown us. Every 
cell has some tale of horror to unfold, and every pillar 
yet seems to groan beneath the silent inscriptions 
which are upon it. 

Leaving old temples, all in ruins, of the description 
of which you may already be weary, we come to Lake 
Agnano, a sheet of water about three miles in circum¬ 
ference, situated near Pozzuoli. The lake is in the 
bed of an extinct and settled volcano, and the waters 
are very deep. At every eruption of Vesuvius, these 
waters rise and fall, showing a connection with the 
awful doings of that volcano, though it is between 
twenty and thirty miles distant. 

On the shores of the lake are several grottoes, which 
are objects of considerable curiosity. One, the Cavern 
of Charon, now the “ Dog Grotto,” 1 derives its name 
from the fact that dogs are here made the subject of a 
curious experiment. In this cave, a vapor rises from 
the ground which is fatal to life. A torch brought 
into contact with it is immediately extinguished, and a 
dog bound and thrown upon the ground will die in two 
minutes. The dog that was put in on the occasion of 
our visit remained about eighty seconds, and was, at the 
expiration, unable to rise. A pistol, loaded in the best 
manner, would not discharge itself when held near the 


1 Grotta del Cane. 


304 


EUROPA. 


Near by is an “ Ammonia Grotto,” or a cave in which 
ammonia gas rises from the ground. The earth is cold, 
and yet an intense heat arises from it; and, though no 
draught of wind can be perceived, one feels all the heat 
and gentle influence which are derived while standing 
over the register of a large furnace. The effect of in¬ 
haling the gas is highly exhilarating, and one would 
soon become intoxicated, as with opium or ether. 
When I came out, my head felt dizzy, my feet light, 
and for a moment they seemed debating whether they 
should not exchange places with each other; but the 
fresh air soon decided in favor of the old way. 

On the shores of this lake are sulphur baths, where 
one needs no fire to keep him warm. The apartments 
are small, rude, and covered with incrustations and saline 
deposits, and are formed by the sulphureous gases, and 
it was not difficult to imagine how soon a confinement 
in one of them would scorch the rheumatism out of a 
poor man’s limbs, or sweat the palsy out of his painless 
sides. The idea, however, of “taking a sweat” in one 
of the drawing-rooms of Mount Vesuvius is somewhat 
novel. The region all around is volcanic; and, in 
many places, the earth is so warm, that, a few inches 
below the surface, the hand cannot be laid upon it. 
There are also old Roman remains, which yet linger 
to tell the story of the past. 

As we rode into Naples, after a visit to Agnano, we 
saw a novel and characteristic exhibition of the Catho¬ 
lic religion. Just on the outskirts of the city, a wooden 
cross, with a representation of our Savior hanging upon 
it, was set up. The whole figure was exceedingly rude 
and uncomely, and looked like any thing but the Savior 
of the world. A priest was on a little elevated plat¬ 
form beside it, declaiming vehemently, and frequently 


RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. 


305 


pointing, with a look of rage or sorrow, to the crucifix. 
As his speech went on, two monkish-looking creatures 
were handing round the plate for the carlines. The 
people were uncovered, and the rude rabble who swept 
by took off their hats, and murmured some word of 
approbation, as they passed. The two monks stopped 
all who were willing to contribute; and if begging is 
any evidence of devotion, they were eminently pious. 
With long faces, they moved about among the crowd, 
thrusting the plate into the eyes of every one who 
looked as if he was the possessor of a single piece of 
money, uttering a sort of whine, which evidently was 
meant for an expression of religious fervency. Our 
guide uncovered his head as we passed, but told us, 
when we were out of the way, that he had no faith in 
that scene, though he acknowledged himself to be a 
devout Catholic. 

39 z* 


306 


EUROPA. 


XXIV. 

THE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 

When Sabbath dawned upon us in Naples, the ques¬ 
tion arose, “ What shall we do, and where shall we 
go ? ” and, after a consultation, we concluded to spend 
the day in visiting the churches and cemeteries — about 
as good use as we could make of the Lord’s day in 
such a city. The churches here are finer than those 
we saw in Rome, with a few exceptions. They are 
spacious and splendid, filled with costly ornaments, and 
glittering with the wealth of ages. The effect, as we 
entered the Church of the Jesuits, was almost overpow¬ 
ering. On an altar near the door was stretched a wax 
figure, which was laid out in lifelike resemblance of 
the Savior. The head was covered with thorns; the 
blood was oozing from the side; and around, above, 
and beneath flashed out a hundred lights upon the 
dim shadows of the church. The sacrament was being 
administered by a priest who was arrayed in most 
costly robes. Around the altar were about tw T o hun¬ 
dred persons, who were on their knees. A golden 
plate was handed to one, who held it under his chin 
while the wafer was laid upon his tongue. When he 
was sure that the article was safe, the plate was handed 
to the next person, and so on. Crowds were coming 
and going all the time, and when one priest became 
weary, another took his place. All around the church 
were confessionals, in which were kneeling penitents 


I 


THE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 307 

engaged in devotional exercises. I noticed here that 
no woman came to the sacrament with her head 
uncovered. If she came in with uncovered head, as 
was frequently the case, having on no bonnet, she 
threw her scarf or handkerchief over her head while 
kneeling at the altar. Forty-six Jesuits are said to be 
in attendance upon this church all the time. Their 
cloisters are near at hand, and they live in idleness and 
crime. 

The next church 1 we visited — no matter for the 
name — was founded by Charles of Anjou, and is one 
of the finest I saw on the continent, and .is under the 
care of the monks, who have a convent adjoining. The 
eye could turn in no direction, from the pavement be¬ 
neath to the ceiling above, without resting on marble, 
silver, or gold. Ten thousand men could move about 
with ease beneath the bending arches and along the 
spacious nave. It contains two pillars, of white mar¬ 
ble, brought from Jerusalem by the crusaders; splen¬ 
did tombs, in which repose the ashes of several of the 
princes of Arragon. Behind the great altar, separated 
by a door from the church, is the chapel of the con¬ 
vent. The door is iron trellised work; and we were 
allowed to gaze through upon the nuns, who were at 
their devotions. They were all clad in neat, Quakerish 
dresses, and looked modest and pious. They seemed 
to be of all ages, from the pale, delicate girl of sixteen, 
to the thin, wrinkled old lady of eighty years. The 
services in this church were very captivating. Three 
monks were singing ; and such power in music I never 
heard before. Awe seemed to pervade the heart, as the 
streams came echoing back from the resounding aisles, 


1 Santa Chiara. 


308 


EUROPA. 


like the harmony of heaven. It is only when We follow 
these monks into the sacristy, and see them there, that 
the delusion dies away. 

Leaving this splendid edifice, we entered another 
nameless chapel, 1 where we found several works of art 
which draw much attention from strangers. Here we 
found the “ Dead Christ,” a statue of the Savior repos¬ 
ing in death after his crucifixion. At his feet lie the 
spikes, the hammer, and the thorns. Over the form is 
thrown a delicate veil, so thin and gauzelike that we 
can seem to see the perspiration upon the body. The 
illusion is complete, and the beholder instinctively 
reaches forward to remove the covering from the face. 
This exquisite work is as large as life, and is carved 
from one piece of marble. The monk who opened the 
doors told us a monkish story, something as follows: 
An English noble wished to purchase this piece of 
statuary, to remove to England, and offered for it its 
weight in gold and silver, in equal proportions, but 
was refused. 

In another part of this chapel, which was originally 
dedicated to Diana of the Ephesians, is a statue of 
Vice, covered with a rope network, which he is endeav¬ 
oring to tear off, in the doing of which he is assisted 
by an angel. As I approached the figure, the illusion 
was so complete, that I seemed to be able to put my 
hand beneath the network, which appeared to be sep¬ 
arate from the person. A globe and some books are 
beside the statue, all of which are carved from one 
piece of marble. On the pages of the open book was 
the following appropriate inscription — Nahum i. 13: 
“ For now will I break his yoke from off thee, and 


1 Santa Severn. 


THE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 


309 


will burst thy bonds in sunder,” with others from the 
Bible and from the Apocrypha. 

Opposite the figure of Vice stands Virtue, as deli¬ 
cately carved, but the design is not so clear and striking 
as its opposite. Behind the altar is a piece of statuary 
representing Christ giving sight to the blind. It is of 
one piece of marble, and is fifteen feet high and eight 
feet wide, and is an object of study and admiration to 
the Christian and artist. 

Hurrying out of this chapel, we went into a church 
which had once been used as a pagan temple, and 
around which yet lingered the memorials of paganism. 
The altar was covered with vases of silver flowers, six 
feet high. Paintings and sculpture were displayed to 
advantage. One fine painting represented the burial 
of the apostle Paul. He was dressed in ecclesiastical 
habits, and several shaven-headed monks were putting 
him into a splendid coffin. If Paul had known that 
he would have fallen into the hands of monks after his 
death, I doubt whether he would have said, “ To die 
is gain.” 

We next came to an edifice which our guide called 
the Church of the Black Prince; and, before I came 
out, I thought he was correct. A monk met us at the 
door, and took us around among the bowing worship¬ 
ers, to show us the pictures and statues. He made 
more noise and talked louder than his brother priest 
who was at the altar. We followed him, clattering 
over the marble pavement, stepping over the legs of 
the kneeling penitents, clearing as well as we could the 
rich dresses of the ladies, and behaving as well as we 
could under the circumstances. We went into the 
sacristy, behind the altar, where is an ivory crucifix six 
feet high and one foot wide, several fine paintings by 


310 


EUROPA. 


the old masters, and boxes and drawers for the robes of 
the priests. As well prepared as I was for any display 
of duplicity on the part of the priests, I was surprised 
at the want of gravity and decorum of these men, 
when, as their work was done, they came into the sac¬ 
risty to exchange their gewgaw garments for the robes 
of the monks. The whole appearance of things in 
this church was bad. Vice seemed to sit throned in 
priestly robes; the church was a playground; the 
priests actors and showmen. Pagan idolatry was out¬ 
shone by Papal pride. I saw an altar boy dipping his 
bread in a basin of consecrated water, and taking up 
the sacred fluid, and drinking it from his hands. There 
was not even the show of decency on the part of the 
priests, and a company of low actors in a theater dress- 
room could not have exhibited less signs of piety. 

We next went to the cathedral. This structure ap¬ 
pears more modern than many others, in consequence 
of having been repaired. It was formerly a pagan 
temple, and near the door at which we entered was an 
urn which once contained the blood shed in sacrifices. 
This church is the center of Papal influence in Naples. 
The principal object of interest is St. January’s Chapel, 
which is a small room, separated from the nave by a 
brass gate, which, we were told, required the labor of 
two men forty-five years to build it. The interior of 
the chapel is very richly finished; the dome small, but 
very superb. The altar is of gold and precious stones, 
and nothing but a fee will uncover it. In the sacristy 
are kept forty-six silver busts, as large as life, of St. 
Antonio, John the Baptist, and others. These busts 
belong to other churches, and on the various feast days 
are carried out in procession. Behind a statue of St. 
January is an oratory, where a golden bust of the saint 


i 


THE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 


311 


and a bottle of his blood are kept. It was told us that, 
when St. January was killed for his love to Jesus, a wo¬ 
man caught his blood, and preserved it. A part of the 
blood was taken to Spain, and the remainder to Naples. 
The portion brought to Naples was bottled, and, with 
the golden bust which contains the skull of the saint, or 
somebody else, is shut up in a silver tabernacle. The 
bust is separated from the blood; and it was told us 
that, when the skull and the blood are brought into 
contact, a miracle is produced. The coagulated blood 
liquefies as soon as it is brought to the bust. The 
dead skull owns the dry substance, and responds to its 
appeal. The miracle is performed three times every 
year — the first eight days of May, the first eight days 
of September, and the 16th of December, which is the 
annual feast day of the saint. Our profane eyes were 
not allowed, of course, to see this sacred blood, which 
is guarded with great care. There are two ponderous 
locks to the tabernacle ; one key is kept by the bishop, 
and the other by the governor of Naples; and if one 
lock is picked, the other remains safe. The whole 
chapel is full of relics and statues of great worth, and 
must have cost an immense sum of money. The gate 
alone cost about thirty thousand dollars, or thirty-two 
thousand ducats. The high altar, an immense block 
of porphyry, with cornices of silver inlaid with gold, 
and the paintings, many of which are by the famous 
Domenichino, must have been purchased at a vast 
expense. 

I presume we might have seen other relics, and per¬ 
haps witnessed some of the miracles, if we had been 
willing to have paid the price. The Italian priests 
will perform almost any miracle, if you will pay them 
enough to rig out the machinery. Money is the key 


312 


EUROPA. 


which unlocks the doors of churches, shows you the 
way into convents, makes you acquainted with priests, 
and takes you into every place of interest; and I doubt 
not some of the monks would undertake to procure 
you some of the veritable blood of our divine Savior 
for a good round sum. 

It is a wonder how so many men of apparent good¬ 
ness and undoubted scholarship can be deceived by the 
priests and monks. Their tricks and artifices are so 
shallow, their miracles are so absurd, their pretensions 
are so preposterous, that we, who have been educated 
under the influence of the Bible, fail to see how intelli¬ 
gent men can be so blinded. The delusion of the peo¬ 
ple is a striking illustration of the influence of early 
education and the force of long-standing usages and 
precedents. Well, mind must wake up ere long. God 
speed the day! 


CATACOMBS —CEMETERY —TOMB OF VIRGIL. 313 


XXV. 

CATACOMBS —CEMETERY —TOMB OF VIRGIL. 

The catacombs are the sepulchers of ages, and one 
trembles as lie enters the dim and dark vestibule. 
These catacombs are dug out under hills, through 
rocks and ledges, and extend into the country for 
miles around. They are excavations, made at first, 
probably, for the sand and stone which were taken 
out, and at length were converted into sepulchers, and 
finally were the abodes of darkness to which the 
afflicted Christians fled in the times of bloody persecu¬ 
tions. The main entrance to the catacombs is reached 
by passing along through a pile of buildings used for 
charitable purposes. On one side of the street or pas¬ 
sage is an institution for aged and indigent men, and 
on the other a similar charity for orphan girls. These 
men and girls are let out for service sometimes, but 
more generally as mourners at funerals. They are em¬ 
ployed in great numbers to weep, and wail, and groan, 
in which delightful work they succeed after a short 
course of instruction. On such occasions, the men are 
dressed in a peculiar uniform, consisting of a blue 
cloak and mourning hat. They carry a halberd and 
a small banner, with the coat of arms or the name of 
the deceased upon it. The girls are designed for nuns 
on their becoming of sufficient age, but are often sold 
by the church to make wives for those who cannot 
secure partners in any other way. A rich gentleman 

40 A A 


314 


EUROPA. 


sees and fancies one of these girls, and the church, ever 
ready to line her coffers, consents to let her go for a 
consideration, which varies according to the ability of 
the person to pay. At the entrance of the catacombs 
is an arch, in which are ancient frescoes painted several 
hundred years ago, and representing scenes in the life 
of St. January. One of them represents his martyr¬ 
dom, and the Neapolitan woman is seen with a bowl 
in her hand, catching the blood as it falls from his 
wounds. 

The catacombs are in three stories or stratums, hewn 
out of the rock, running under the whole city, and ex¬ 
tending as far as Pozzuoli. All along these arched 
subterranean passages are niches cut in the walls, just 
large enough for the corpse, whether it be man or child. 
The ceilings are adorned with mosaics and frescoes. 
Some of these are pagan and some are Christian, teach¬ 
ing the lessons of several different ages. Little monu¬ 
ments, with inscriptions, one to the god of gardens, are 
set up here, and they seem to speak and live as the red 
glare of the torch falls upon them. Joseph told us 
that one of the passages had been explored twenty-nine 
miles, which may possibly be true. These tombs, now 
decaying, filled with bones and ashes, have melancholy 
tales to tell as the stranger goes down into them. They 
have been used alike, in times past, for prison, sepul¬ 
cher, temple, and palace. Kings and slaves have fled 
to them; pagans and Christians, in turn, have sought 
this refuge — a refuge which the boldest dare not in¬ 
vade. Here has been heard the groan of the murdered 
victim, and anon has the song of Jehovah’s children 
made the very walls give back sweet music. Beneath 
these dim arches men have bowed in hopeless despair, 
and here have they turned with love and reverence to 


CATACOMBS—CEMETERY —TOMB OF VIRGIL. 315 

the mighty Maker of us all. It required no effort of 
imagination to bring hack old scenes; and while I stood 
in the flickering light of the torch, which, as the guide 
moved on, now seemed to blaze out with supernatural 
brightness, and anon to die away as if about to go out, 
I heard again the cry of the disciples as they came 
rushing on, followed by the hounds of Nero and his 
bloody minions. It became louder and more terrible as 
rank after rank of the followers of the Nazarene threw 
themselves, covered with blood and dust, into the dens 
and caves of the earth. Down they rushed into deeper 
darkness, where no sun could pierce the gloom. Then 
heard I, too, the wild psalm, chanted in an unknown 
tongue by those strange choristers, as they found them¬ 
selves in a place where none dare follow them. It 
came in stronger, wilder, and more sublime strains, 
echoing along the avails, and breaking on the ears of 
the pursuing soldiery, who thronged around the mouth 
of the passage. 

From these burial-places of the past, we pursued our 
way to the new cemetery of Naples, as near as I could 
judge in the north-east part of the city. Here a beau¬ 
tiful lot of land is laid out, with great neatness and 
regularity, for burial purposes. It is so unlike our 
cemeteries, that a description may not be uninteresting. 
It was laid out several years ago, in the time of the 
plague, when burials in the churches and in church¬ 
yards were deemed dangerous. It is located on an 
elevation, from which is obtained a very fine view of 
Vesuvius, the broad, beautiful Bay of Naples, and the 
surrounding country. Each of the churches in the 
city, or the most distinguished of them, has here a 
chapel designed for burials. Any person paying a 
yearly fee to the church can be buried in one of them 


316 


EUKOPA. 


when he dies, and have a number of masses said for the 
rest of his soul. The chapels are small, say fifty feet 
square. In the center is a deep vault, and along the 
sides are burial-places. When a man dies, he is brought 
here and buried, and a mark set up to designate his 
grave. Men are allowed to sleep here fifteen months, 
and children seven months, when they are dug up to 
make room for others, and their bodies cast headlong 
into the vault beneath, where they are consumed by 
quicklime. In the walls of the chapels are a large 
number of niches. A wealthy person can purchase one 
of these niches, which is just large enough for the en¬ 
trance of a coffin: this is put in, sealed up, and a mar¬ 
ble slab placed over the spot, to tell whose bones are 
concealed and plastered in there. These bodies are 
never removed; but the exorbitant price demanded of 
the purchaser prevents all but a limited number from 
enjoying the benefits of the place. The Catholic who 
pays an annual sum to the church will also have his 
funeral expenses borne, and forty or fifty hired mourn¬ 
ers will howl around his grave, and hypocritical priests 
will come and perform mass over him. 

There are also deep vaults, capable of holding thou¬ 
sands of bodies, in which persons who do not fee the 
church are thrown, without burial service or priestly 
chant. The largest of these vaults has one hundred 
and eighty-three openings, and one of these is thrown 
up every two days, and all who are brought are cast 
down, and lime thrown upon them, where they speedily 
decompose. No mode of burial could be more terrible 
than this. No hymn is sung, no prayer is offered, no 
service is said; but, like a brute, the noble creation of 
God is cast into a pit, which seems like the yawning 
mouth of hell, and there consumed. The progress of 


CATACOMBS — CEMETERY — TOMB OF VIRGIL. 317 

civilization is always attended with care for the burial- 
fields of the dead; and the higher the refinement, the 
more delicate and chaste will he the expressions of 
interest in the remains of a perishing humanity. The 
brutal habit of the Neapolitans, with ground enough 
to bury millions, seems to me to savor much of the 
barbarism of the dark ages, and I turned from the pit 
with horror. 

The cemetery also contains garden lots, in which 
bodies can remain fifteen months, when they are dug 
up and thrown into the vaults. Thus multitudes in 
Naples know not where to find the bones of father or 
mother. In their grief they have no tomb over which 
to v r eep, but every idea of the dead must be terrible in 
the extreme. The body is cast headlong into a pit, and 
is consumed by quicklime, while the soul is sent to a 
purgatory dependent upon the prayers of the priest and 
the alms of surviving friends. I can see the Catholic 
religion trifling with the living with some degree of 
allowance ; but the idea of such horrid mummeries over 
the souls of the dead, w T ho are in God’s hands, when 
penance and Popery, mass and monkery, are alike una¬ 
ble to affect them, is one which is abhorrent to every 
principle of our nature. Twenty-five monks attend 
this burial-place, keep it in order, and do as much work 
as one American could easily perform. They live in 
an adjoining monastery, and employ their time in say¬ 
ing masses for the dead. 

In another part of the city is the tomb of Virgil, 
which we visited one morning at sunrise. It stands 
over the entrance of the grotto of Posilippo, in a spot 
to which the ashes were removed by Augustus. We 
pushed our way out of the city, up the hill, passing 
through an unpoetical old gate, into a garden fragrant 

aa * 


318 


EUROPA. 


with flowers, and shady with fig, chestnut, and palm 
trees, to a little arch-like building about twenty feet 
long and fifteen feet wide, over which the ilex tree, so 
loved by Virgil, casts its shadow. The garden in which 
the tomb is w r as once a Protestant burial-field, and a 
few of the broken tombs still remain. The ashes of 
Virgil have been removed. The urn which once stood 
in the center of this rude apartment is also gone, and 
the old cave alone is seen, with a marble slab erect¬ 
ed by a foreign prince, to tell where once the ashes 
of the poet reposed. The Catholic church can afford 
to decorate the tombs, and build marble monuments 
over the resting-places of monks and villains; but a 
name known to the world, associated with works read 
by every scholar in every land, is allowed to remain 
unhonored. And we thank them for it. A friar, with 
his holy water and his wooden skull, at Virgil’s tomb, 
•would excite the indignation of every one who had read 
the works of Virgil. His writings are his sufficient 
memorials, and he can afford to do without a splendid 
sarcophagus. 

To life in Naples there is no harmony. The widest 
extremes meet, and wealth and poverty are strangely 
mixed together. The indolent, filthy habits of the peo¬ 
ple, the wretched lazzaroni, the stupid monks, all ren¬ 
der the place disgusting and odious. That it is beauti¬ 
fully located, that it has fine palaces, that it is richly 
adorned by every work of art, all admit; but all these 
will not counterbalance industry, temperance, frugality, 
domestic government, cleanliness, and happiness. The 
soft Italian skies, and the highly-finished Italian pal¬ 
aces, are worth but little, under such a government, to 
people with such habits. The cold, stormy climate of 
New England, whose bleak hills are snow-covered and 


CATACOMBS — CEMETERY — TOMB OF VIRGIL. 319 

not vine-clad, is more inviting than the voluptuous ease 
and indolent refinement of Naples. To me there is but 
little poetry in temples dedicated to Mercury, Venus, 
and Bacchus, now broken down and filled with ser¬ 
pents and reptiles; in palaces, at the doors of which 
women sit in filth and wretchedness, raking out the 
matted and tangled hair which grows upon the sense¬ 
less pates of each other; in riding on the shoulders of 
greasy, dirty men, into the caves which, if we may be¬ 
lieve the poets, the beautiful limbs of the sibyls were 
wont to repose; in nightly assassinations and daily 
debauches ; in the dirty feet and shaven crowns of the 
friars; in bright-eyed daughters of Italy who do not 
know their own mother tongue; in the streets where 
flowers and filth, fruit and folly, are seen in delightful 
kindred, and where one third of the people we meet 
remind us of the plague in pantaloons, and the small¬ 
pox in the unwashed chemise of the maiden. Poets 
may breathe their tender lays, and with professional li¬ 
cense portray Naples as one of the outposts of paradise 
itself; but to me it will be associated with a fallen, de¬ 
graded, dishonored, enslaved, and besotted people. 


320 


EUROPA. 


XXVI. 

HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 

I have wandered in melancholy spots, where tears 
were man’s most appropriate offerings; I have seen 
the tombs of Columbia’s most honored dead, shaded by 
evergreens, and mourned over by the drooping branches 
of the weeping willow; I have moved amid the char¬ 
nels of those whose names yet live in our most delight¬ 
ful recollections; I have crossed the ocean, and stood 
in the old Abbey of Westminster, where, amid the faded 
wreaths of poetry, the scattered laurels of ambition, 
the broken scepters of royalty, Death sits, a tyrant on 
the throne of skulls, sporting with the plaything man ; 
hut nowhere have deeper streams of mournful thoughts 
poured into the mind, than when listening to the elo¬ 
quent teachings of the past in the deserted streets of 
death-smitten Pompeii. Here are a nation’s sepulchers 
— the palaces of its senators and the hovels of its 
slaves, all buried in a single night, and forgotten for 
centuries. 

Pompeii lies north-east from Xaples, at a distance of 
about twelve miles, and at the time of its destruction 
was a considerable city. It was noted for the beauty 
of its dwellings and the intelligence of its people. To 
it philosophers resorted, and men of the schools made 
it their abode. It was a wealthy city, and in easy 
elegance lived its voluptuous inhabitants, the slaves of 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


321 


sensualism and dissipation. Beyond general facts, but 
little of its history is known; and the remains which 
are now being exhumed are proving false many of the 
opinions of historians and antiquarians. 

The city was partly shaken down by an earthquake, 
A. D. 63, but the enterprising inhabitants soon repaired 
their shattered tenements, and erected their theaters 
and halls of justice with more beauty and elegance 
than before. But their work was vain. A few years 
rolled on, and a more general destruction occurred, and 
the history of Pompeii came to a sudden and terrible 
end. A. D. 79, the surrounding hills gave evidence of 
convulsions. The lakes and ponds in the neighborhood 
were affected. They rose and fell; retreated from the 
shores, and anon dashed up again upon the banks. 
Strange, unearthly sounds, like the rumbling of a thou¬ 
sand chariots over hollow pavements, were heard. Now 
and then, an opening chasm, emitting sulphureous 
clouds, which hung like a sable pall over the doomed 
city, would be seen; and at intervals a jet of flame, 
thrown into the air, would fall just without the walls, as 
if the mighty powers below were at play with the fears 
of men. The people, alarmed for the moment, soon re¬ 
turned to their pleasures. The theater was thronged, 
and the places of amusement found many attendants. 
The busy crowd hurried to and fro, engaged in the 
various purposes of life. The priests of Isis and the 
followers of Jesus met each other in the street, and 
the music of the temple was echoed back from the 
walls of the theater and the gates of the forum. The 
approach of danger only sharpened the appetite and 
increased the desire for enjoyment; and while the vol¬ 
cano was preparing to bring its artillery to bear upon 
their habitations, they were shouting over the wounded 

41 


322 


EUIIOPA. 


gladiator, and singing bacchanalian songs in the tem¬ 
ples of their divinities. 

But at length the hour came; and from the summit 
of the mountain flashed terrific lightnings, forked and 
fiery, and forth came a shower of ashes which darkened 
the sun; a torrent of water came down boiling upon 
the plains below, and a more fearful stream of molten 
matter, which directed its course towards the villages 
and towns which yesterday resounded with shouts and 
songs. The scene must have been one of indescribable 
and awful grandeur. That old mountain quaking and 
trembling, and belching forth huge masses of rocks and 
scoria, which, dashing against each other in the air, 
scattered into fragments, and, falling upon the beauti¬ 
ful villas in the neighborhood, set them on fire; the 
streams of boiling water and sparkling cinders, min¬ 
gling and falling heavily upon the house tops and in the 
streets; the changing character of the whole scene, 
from lurid brightness now to dense and dismal dark¬ 
ness then; the long, hurried procession of slaves, with 
torches and treasures, hastening with their masters down 
to the sea; houses reeling and falling, crushing to pieces 
the fugitive in his wild flight; nobles and beggars alike 
asking for aid in vain; the wild outcries of the follow¬ 
ers of Jesus, who imagined that the day of doom had 
come, and were uttering notes of warning; the pillage 
of houses vacated by their owners, by men who were 

. 

unterrified by the convulsion of the world; and all the 
fearful phenomena of nature which that day were 
witnessed by the flying sensualists of Pompeii, — must 
have thrown over the whole an aspect of unutterable 
terror, equaled by nothing in the history of the world 
since the flood and the conflagration of Sodom. 

A true and accurate narrative of the burial of the 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEH. 


323 


two cities has been given by the younger Pliny, in a 
series of letters to a friend. They were written in 
answer to certain questions which were put to him in 
relation to the death of his uncle, Pliny the elder, and 
portray the scene to our minds with great distinctness 
and probable truthfulness. In one of these letters, he 
says, — 

66 Your request that I would send you an account of 
my uncle’s death, in order to transmit a more exact 
relation of it to posterity, deserves my acknowledg¬ 
ments ; for, if this accident shall be celebrated by your 
pen, the glory of it, I am well assured, will be rendered 
forever illustrious. And notwithstanding he perished 
h J a misfortune which, as it involved at the same time 
a most beautiful country in ruins, and destroyed so 
many populous cities, seems to promise him an ever¬ 
lasting remembrance, — notwithstanding he has him¬ 
self composed many and lasting works, — yet I am per¬ 
suaded the mentioning of him in your immortal works 
will greatly contribute to eternalize his name. Happy I 
esteem those to be whom Providence has distinguished 
with the abilities either of doing such actions as are 
worthy of being related, or of relating them in a man¬ 
ner worthy of being read; but doubly happy are they 
who are blessed with both these uncommon talents, in 
the number of which my uncle, as his own writings 
and your history will evidently prove, may justly be 
ranked. It is with extreme willingness, therefore, I exe¬ 
cute your commands, and should, indeed, have claimed 
the task if you had not enjoined it. He was, at that 
time, with the fleet under his command, at Misenum. 
On the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, 
my mother desired him to observe a cloud, which 
appeared of a very unusual size and shape. He had 


i 


324 


EUKOPA. 


just returned from taking the benefit of the sun, and, 
after bathing himself in cold water, and taking a slight 
repast, was retired to his study. He immediately arose, 
and went out upon an eminence, from whence he might 
more distinctly view this very uncommon appearance. 
It was not, at that distance, discernible from what 
mountain this cloud issued, but it was found afterwards 
to ascend from Mount Vesuvius. I cannot give a more 
exact description of its figure than by resembling it to 
that of a pine tree; for it shot up to a great hight in 

r x* 

the form of a trunk, which extended itself at the top 
into a sort of branches, occasioned, I imagine, either 
by a sudden gust of air that impelled it, the force of 
which decreased as it advanced upwards, or the cloud 
itself, being pressed back again by its own weight, ex¬ 
panded in this manner. It appeared sometimes bright 
and sometimes dark and spotted, as it was more or less 
impregnated with earth and cinders. This extraordi¬ 
nary phenomenon excited my uncle’s philosophical cu¬ 
riosity to take a nearer view of it. He ordered a light 
vessel to be got ready, and gave me the liberty, if I 
thought proper, to attend him. I rather chose to con¬ 
tinue my studies; for, as it happened, he had given me 
an employment of that kind. As he was coming out 
of the house, he received a note from Bectina, the wife 
of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the immi- 
ment danger which threatened her; for, her villa being 
situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was no 
way to escape but by sea. She earnestly entreated him, 
therefore, to come to her assistance. He accordingly 
changed his first design, and what he began with a 
philosophical he pursued with an heroieal turn of 
mind. He ordered the galleys to put to sea, and went 
himself on board, with an intention of assisting not 


\n\ 1.11 


























HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


325 


only Eectina, but several others; for the villas stand 
extremely thick upon that beautiful coast. When 
hastening to the place from whence others fled with 
the utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the 
point of danger, and with so much calmness and pres¬ 
ence of mind, as to be able to make and dictate his 
observations upon the motion and figure of that dread¬ 
ful scene. He was now so nigh the mountain, that the 
cinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he 
approached, fell into the ships, together with pumice 
stones, and black pieces of burning rock. They were 
likewise in danger not only of being aground by the 
sudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast frag¬ 
ments which rolled down from the mountain, and ob¬ 
structed all the shore. Here he stopped to consider 
whether he should return again, to which the pilot 
advising him, ‘ Fortune,’ said he, c befriends the brave ; 
carry me to Pomponianus.’ Pomponianus was then at 
Stabice, separated by a gulf which the sea, after several 
insensible windings, forms upon the shore. He had 
already sent his baggage on board; for, though he was 
not at that time in actual danger, yet, being within the 
view of it, and, indeed, extremely near if it should in 
the least increase, he was determined to put to sea as 
soon as the wind should change. It was favorable, 
however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom 
he found in the greatest consternation. He embraced 
him with tenderness, encouraging and exhorting him 
to keep up his spirits; and, the more to dissipate his 
fears, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths 
to be got ready, when, after having bathed, he sat down 
to supper with great cheerfulness, or, at least, (what is 
equally heroic,) with all the appearance of it. In the 
mean while, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius flamed 

BB 


326 


EUKOPA. 


out in several places with much violence, which the 
darkness of the night contributed to render still more 
visible and dreadful. But my uncle, in order to soothe 
the apprehensions of his friend, assured him it was only 
the burning of the villages which the country people 
had abandoned to the flames. After this, he retired to 
rest; and it is most certain he was so little discomposed 
as to fall into a deep sleep; for, being pretty fat, and 
breathing hard, those who attended without actually 
heard him snore. The court which led to his apart¬ 
ment being now almost filled with stones and ashes, if 
he had continued there any time longer it would have 
been impossible for him to have made his way out. It 
w r as thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got 
up, and went to Pomponianus and the rest of his com¬ 
pany, who were not unconcerned enough to think of 
going to bed. They consulted together whether it 
would be most prudent to trust to the houses, which 
now shook from side to side with frequent and violent 
concussions, or fly to the open fields, where the cal¬ 
cined stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell 
in large showers, and threatened destruction. In this 
distress, they resolved for the fields, as the less danger¬ 
ous situation of the two — a resolution which, while 
the rest of the company were hurried into by their 
fears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate 
consideration. They went out, then, having pillows 
tied upon their heads with napkins ; and this was their 
whole defence against the storm of stones that fell 
around them. It was now day every where else; but 
there a deeper darkness prevailed than in the most ob¬ 
scure night, which, however, was in some degree dissi¬ 
pated by torches and other lights of various kinds. 
They thought proper to go down farther upon the 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


327 


shore, to observe if they might safely put out to sea; 
but they found the waves still run extremely high and 
boisterous. There my uncle, having drank a draught 
or two of cold water, threw himself down upon a cloth 
which was laid for him, when immediately the flames, 
and a strong smell of sulphur, which was the forerunner 
of them, dispersed the rest of the company, and obliged 
him to rise. He raised himself up, with the assistance 
of two of his servants, and instantly fell down dead — 
suffocated, as I conjecture, by some gross and noxious 
vapor, having always had weak lungs, and being fre¬ 
quently subject to a difficulty of breathing. As soon 
as it was light again, which was not till the third day 
after this melancholy accident, his body was found en¬ 
tire, and without any marks of violence upon it, exactly 
in the same posture that he fell, and looking more like 
a man asleep than dead. During all this time, my 

mother and I, who were at Misenum- But as this 

has no connection with your history, so your inquiry 
went no farther than concerning my uncle’s death: 
with that, therefore, I will put an end to my letter. 
Suffer me only to add, that I have faithfully related to 
you what I was either an eye-witness of myself, or 
received immediately after the accident happened, and 
before there was time to vary the truth. You will 
choose out of this narrative such circumstances as shall 
be most suitable to your purpose; for there is a great 
difference between what is proper for a letter and a 
history, between writing to a friend and writing to the 
public.” 

In answer to another letter from Tacitus, requesting 
still further details of the terrible catastrophe which 
destroyed so many human lives, and buried so many 
cities in the ruins, Pliny writes again, as follows: — 



328 


EUROPA. 


“ The letter I wrote you concerning the death of my 
uncle has roused, it seems, your curiosity to know what 
terrors and dangers surrounded me during that dread¬ 
ful scene. 

1 Though my shocked soul recoils, my tongue shall tell.’ 

My uncle having left us, I pursued the studies which 
prevented my going with him until it was time to 
bathe; after which I went to supper, and from thence 
to bed. There had been, for many days before, some 
shocks of an earthquake, which the less surprised us 
as they are extremely frequent in Campania; but they 
were so particularly violent that night, that they not 
only shook every thing about us, but seemed, indeed, 
to threaten total destruction. My mother flew to my 
chamber, where she found me rising in order to awaken 
her. We went out into a small court, belonging to the 
house, which separated the sea from the buildings. As 
I was, at that time, but eighteen years of age, I knew 
not whether I should call my behavior, in this danger¬ 
ous juncture, rashness or courage; but I took up Livy, 
and amused myself with turning over that author. 
Though it was now morning, the light was exceedingly 
faint and languid; the buildings all around us tot¬ 
tered ; and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as 
the place was narrow and confined, there was no re¬ 
maining there without great and certain danger. We 
therefore resolved to move out of town. The people 
followed us in the utmost consternation, and as, to a 
mind distracted with terror, every suggestion seems 
more prudent than its own, pressed in great crowds 
around us on our way out. Being got at a convenient 
distance from, the houses, we stood still, in the midst 
of a most dangerous and dreadful scene. The chariots 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


329 


which we had ordered to he drawn out were so agitated 
backward and forward, though upon the most level 
ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by 
supporting them with large stones. The sea seemed to 
roll back upon itself, and to be driven from its banks 
by the convulsive motion of the earth. It is certain, 
at least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and 
several sea animals were left upon it. On the other 
side, a black and dreadful cloud, bursting with an ig¬ 
neous, serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, 
resembling flashes of lightning, but much larger. 

“ My mother strongly conjured me to make my es¬ 
cape at any rate, which, as I was young, I might easily 
do. As for herself, she said, her age and corpulency 
rendered all attempts of that sort impossible. How¬ 
ever, she would willingly meet death if she could have 
the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion 
of mine. But I absolutely refused to leave her; and, 
taking her by the hand, I led her on. She complied 
with great reluctance, and not without many reproach¬ 
es to herself for retarding my flight. • The ashes now 
began to fall upon us, though in no great quantities. 
I turned my head, and observed behind us a thick 
smoke, which came rolling after us like a torrent. I 
proposed, while we yet had any light, to turn out of 
the high road, lest we should be pressed to death in 
the dark by the crowd that followed us. We had 
scarce stepped out of the path, when darkness over¬ 
spread us — not like that of a cloudy night, or when 
there is no moon, but of a room when it is shut up, 
and all the lights extinct. Nothing there was to be 
heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of chil¬ 
dren, and the cries of men; some calling for their 
children, some for their parents, others for their hus- 

42 bb * 


330 


EUROPA. 


hands, and only distinguishing each other by their 
voices; one lamenting his own fate, another that of 
his family; some wishing to die from the very fear of 
dying; some lifting their hands to the gods; but the 
greater part imagining that the last and eternal night 
was come, which was to destroy the gods and the world 
together. At length, a glimmering light appeared, 
which we imagined to be the forerunner of an unusual 
burst of flame, as in truth it was then the return of 
day. However, the fire fell at a distance from us. 
Then again we were enveloped in darkness, and a 
•heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which we were 
obliged, every now and then, to shake off; otherwise 
we should have been crushed and buried in the heap. 
At last, this dreadful darkness was dissipated by de¬ 
grees, like a cloud of smoke; the real day returned, 
and even the sun appeared, though very faintly, and as 
when an eclipse is coming on. Every object which 
presented itself to our eyes seemed changed, being cov¬ 
ered over with snow. We returned to Misenum, where 
we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed 
an anxious night, between hope and fear, though, in¬ 
deed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the 
earthquake still continued; while several enthusiastic 
people ran up and down, hightening the calamity by 
terrible predictions. However, my mother and I, not¬ 
withstanding the danger we had passed, and which still 
threatened us, had not thought of leaving the place till 
we should receive some intelligence from my uncle.” 

The first traces of the buried cities were discovered 
in 1738, by Charles, King of Spain, who conquered 
Naples, and made Portici, a town which is built upon 
the ruins of Herculaneum, his residence. In sinking a 
well, three statues were found, which led to explorations, 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


331 


and resulted in the discovery of the long-buried city. 
In 1750, Pompeii was discovered, after having remained 
concealed from view’ nearly seventeen centuries. Her¬ 
culaneum was buried by the lava storm, which poured 
along the streets, deluging the houses, consuming the 
verdure, and overwhelming every sign of life and 
beauty. ' Owing to the fact that this city was destroyed 
by lava, but few excavations have been made. The 
work is so slow and tedious, and requires so much la¬ 
bor and expense, that but little has yet been done. A 
goodly town is also built upon the spot, and the habita¬ 
tions of the living rise upon the tombs of the dead. 

With lighted torches, we went down the rocky path¬ 
way into an old theater, which has been partially ex¬ 
humed, and which still shows us the magnificent pro¬ 
portions and splendid decorations of this temple of 
pleasure. Beautiful houses have also been discovered, 
in which works of art in a state of wonderful preser¬ 
vation have been found, and brought forth from their 
rocky sepulchers to become the study of the antiqua¬ 
rian, and the object of curiosity and amusement to the 
traveler. The most important discovery made in Her¬ 
culaneum was sixteen hundred and ninety-six papyrus 
rolls, which were brought to light about a century ago. 
They are covered with inscriptions almost unintelligible 
as yet, but which may in future furnish important his¬ 
torical information to the scholar. The rolls are so 
charred, that thus far all attempts to unroll them have 
been nearly or quite in vain, only a small number of 
them being legible after the process is completed. 1 Some 
of the most noted scholars of modern times have been 
employed to interpret these literary remains, but with 

1 The authors of these works are Phanas, Colotes, Polystratus, and 
Epicurius, Philodemos, Demetrius, others. 


332 


EUROPA. 


no success that corresponds with the time, labor, and 
expense of the undertaking. All future excavations 
made here will be slow and tedious, and meet with 
every obstacle from the inhabitants of Portici, who are 
naturally averse to having the town undermined, and 
its foundations hewn away. What lies beneath, none 
can tell; what temples, what theaters, what 'exquisite 
works of art, what noble designs, what buried treas¬ 
ures, must long remain unknown. The work of de¬ 
struction was not completed by one eruption. The 
stratified crustation shows that again and again the 
waves of fire have rolled over that doomed city, and 
the present quiet appearance of Vesuvius is no indica¬ 
tion that lightnings will not again burst forth from its 
fiery bosom. The excavations now made only need a 
new earthquake to fill them up, and Portici only waits 
a new eruption to sweep its palaces away. 

Pompeii was buried by a shower of ashes, and the 
work of exhuming it has been more speedy and suc¬ 
cessful. Thus far about forty acres have been dug 
over, and streets, dwellings, and public buildings are 
laid open. These ashes fell so fast that many had no 
opportunity to escape, or were buried in the streets as 
they were pursuing their way to the distant sea. Thus 
far some three or four hundred skeletons have been 
found, while countless others may yet be lying in those 
parts of the city which have not been disinterred. 

The impression made upon my mind by a walk 
through the streets of Pompeii time can hardly efface. 
The pavements, the houses, the columns, as they were 
when, eighteen centuries ago, the torrent fell upon 
them, are on every side. The shops of the traders, 
with the signs still up; the frescoes on the walls, as 
bright and lively as ever; the mosaics of stone and 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


333 


shell, clear and distinct; the various evidences of ex¬ 
quisite taste and finish, — all seem like a dream, when 
we are told that the hands that made them trembled in 
death before the crucifixion. The houses of Pompeii 
were generally of one story, or if a second story was 
erected, it was used for storage, or for slaves. A large 
number of apartments, halls, and open courts were on 
the ground floor, and frequently many of the rooms 
were entirely uncovered, and designed entirely for 
pleasant weather. The stranger, finding admittance 
through a spacious entry, ( vestibidum ,) would find him¬ 
self in an open area, paved with marble or w T rought 
in mosaics, from which, on all sides, are doors leading 
out into dining-room, ( triclinium ,) reading-room, ( tabli - 
num ,) bed-chambers, and saloons for various purposes, 
in number and splendor corresponding with the taste 
and ability of the possessor. 

We entered Pompeii by the famous Appian Way, and 
passed by the spot where the skeleton sentinel was 
found in his armor, standing at his post, having scorned 
flight, choosing to die in discharge of duty rather than 
leave the city unguarded; and also, near by, where a 
mother and her three children were found, the position 
of the group being such as to show that the last act of 
maternal love was an attempt to save the children at 
the sacrifice of her own life. We were pointed first to 
the house of Diomede, whose story poetry has woven 
into its song, and on which fiction has founded many a 
thrilling tale. The remains of this rich man’s resi¬ 
dence indicate that it was one of great splendor. In 
the now deserted halls were once heard the pattering 
feet of the dancers, and from the gay abode gleamed 
out at night the dazzling radiance of the festival. The 
house stands near the mountain, and was probably 


334 


EUROPA. 


buried as soon as any other part of the city. When it 
was disinterred, the remains gave vivid witness of the 
last scene in the awful play. It is evident that the oc¬ 
cupants of the house, finding themselves cut off from 
flight, or supposing that the storm of fire and ashes 
would soon abate, retired to the subterranean passages 
below, with lights, and food, and wine, and there per¬ 
ished. Seventeen skeletons were found pent up in 
these vaults, whither they had fled for safety and pro¬ 
tection — alas! their sepulchers. One of them was an 
infant, whose little form still clung in death to the bony 
bosom of her who gave it birth. Another was the little 
daughter of Diomede, the impression of whose rounded 
chest, made in the consolidated scoria, still is shown at 
Naples—the flesh consumed, but the bust remains to 
tell even the texture of the dress, as well as the finished 
beauty of the neck and arms. Two others were chil¬ 
dren, and when they were unburied, “ some of their 
blond hair was still existent.” 1 In the common fear, 
the usual distinctions of life were forgotten, and the 
mistress and her slaves were huddled together, distin¬ 
guished, seventeen centuries after, only by the jewelry 
which still hung upon the stiffened skeleton of the 
former. 

Diomede himself evidently made an attempt to es¬ 
cape, but was not successful. He was found in his 
garden with a bunch of keys in his hand, and near by 
him a slave, with some silver vases and several gold and 
silver coins. With what he could seize upon, the 
wealthy proprietor of the beautiful villa, attended by 
his trusty slave, left his family, who dared not follow 
him, and sought safety in flight, but only hastened his 
terrible end. His vast wealth, his humble slaves, his 


1 History of Pompeii. 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEH. 


335 


offices and honors were not respected by the descend¬ 
ing fragments of rock, some one of which probably 
struck him to the ground, and terminated his earthly 
existence. At a little distance from his terrified family 
he gasped away his breath, denied the consolation of 
perishing in the arms of those who loved him. 

Near one of the gates in another part of the city, 
two men were found with their feet fast in the stocks. 
They were condemned to sit there a few days, but an 
awful Providence turned the sentence into one far more 
terrible; and there, for seventeen centuries, they sat, ere 
friendly hands came to undo the stocks and let them 
out. In that awful hour when the city was destroyed, 
no one remembered the imprisoned criminal. The 
burning cinders, the scorching ashes, and the boiling 
water fell upon them, rising now above the stiffened 

9 

limbs, now to the armpits, now to the chin, now to the 
lips, until all was over, and their prison was their tomb. 
Their calls for aid none would heed. Their compan¬ 
ions in guilt, their jailers, their judges had alike fled 
for safety, and none came to set them free. 

Passing up the street from the gate is the house of 
Sallust, which was once a magnificent structure; and 
the remains still bear many marks of beauty and finish. 
The rich pilasters, the carved images, the pavements, 
and the walls still indicate the opulence of the former 
owner. The most remarkable thing about this and 
many of the other houses of the city is the unusual 
richness and freshness of the frescoes, some of which, 
though buried many centuries, seem as distinct and 
clear as if painted yesterday. Some forgotten and lost 
art is buried here; for scarcely would a modern fresco 
last so long under the most favorable circumstances ; 
but these have resisted not only the streams of boiling 


336 


EUROPA. 


water and the showers of ashes, but also the steady, 
onward march of ages, which with ceaseless tramp have 
been wandering over them. 

The house of Pansa is traced out, well arranged, 
spacious, and splendid, even in its ruins. The door¬ 
way still remains, with its beautiful Corinthian pilas¬ 
ters ; and the interior of the house, though broken and 
defaced, has many marks of its former elegance. The 
mosaics which yet remain, when the dust is removed 
from them, are found to be very beautiful, and show a 
carefulness of design and correctness of finish which 
would do honor to the skill and taste of a later age. 

The house of the tragic poet, so called, which was 
exhumed in 1824, is an object of great interest. The 
various apartments are full as the walls can hang with 
historical paintings. As the stranger crosses the mar¬ 
ble threshhold and enters the hall, a chained fox dog, 
looking fiercely and preparing to spring, causes him 
almost to retreat in dismay. Farther on he sees various 
paintings, illustrating the customs and manners of the 
ancient inhabitants. The walls seem to speak forth 
eloquent words, and the longer one gazes, the more is 
he surprised at the accuracy of the work before him, and 
its wonderful preservation amid the changes of the past. 
Here is Jupiter wedding the unwilling Thetis to a mor¬ 
tal ; the priests of Diana engaged in preparing for the 
human sacrifice; the great chariot race between the 
gods; the battle of the Amazons; and many others. 
Many of these paintings are being removed to Naples, 
where they are visited by thousands, who gaze upon 
them with wonder. 

The houses of the great and little fountains, so called 
because fountains are the most prominent things found 
in them, and many others of persons know r n to have 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


337 


been residents at the time in Pompeii, are pointed 
out to the traveler as he pursues his way along the 
tomb-like streets. The identity of these houses may 
be somewhat uncertain, and the paintings may not 
represent the scenes which they are now supposed to 
delineate; but this does not detract from the interest, 
or lessen the melancholy pleasure we feel in every 
object which engages the attention. 

The shops are as interesting as the houses, and are 
more definite in their character. There yet remain 
some signs by which the different places of trade, and 
the various warehouses, are distinguished. Statues and 
paintings, illustrative of the different articles used, 
manufactured, or sold, and the different modes of op¬ 
eration, tell you where to find the shop of the baker 
and the house of the butcher. Three bakers’ shops 
have been uncovered, in which are the ovens ready for 
use, the mills in which the grain was broken, the knead¬ 
ing troughs, the variqus articles used in the making of 
bread, and the bread itself, well done since it has been 
baking so long over the fires of the volcano. The 
bread, of course, and the baker’s articles, have been 
removed to Naples, and are on exhibition there. The 
loaves are flat, baked in moulds, and some of them are 
stamped with the name of the maker. They vary in 
size, from six inches to twelve inches in diameter. The 
ashes in which they were burnt baked them to a crisp 
first, and then preserved them. 

The shop of the apothecary, with all his implements, 
has been found in a tolerable state of preservation; and 
various other evidences of the trade of the city were 
found remaining when the excavations were made. 
These all show that the arts were more perfect in Italy, 
under the reign of pagan emperors, than under the 

43 cc 


338 


EUROPA. 


oppressive enactments of the pope. The course of the 
people has been downward for centuries. The public 
mind has been enslaved, the public conscience has been 
seared, and the public hand has been palsied. The 
sweet voice of music, and the more rude sound of the 
hammer, have alike been hushed, and the noble facul¬ 
ties of the artisan have been turned to the construction 
of infernal machines, to rack humanity out of the 
children of God. 

Thus far I have spoken only of private residences 
and places of trade; but these are not of most interest. 
The public offices of Pompeii, which have already been 
uncovered, enable one to form the most correct esti¬ 
mate of the splendor of the city. The Temple of Isis, 
eighty-four feet long and seventy-five feet broad, must 
have been a structure of great magnificence. It is so 
perfect that the arrangement and construction of the 
building can be discovered with ease. The private 
staircases and the secret tabernacles, the vestures and 
the sacred vessels, have been found. The altars on 
which the human sacrifice was burnt, and the oratory 
in which his bones and ashes were put, have come 
down to our times. The Doric columns which once 
formed and supported the portico, the broken statue of 
the divinity, and the various adornments of the temple, 
have been examined and identified. Near the door of 
the temple was found a skeleton of one of the priests, 
drawn into the temple, perhaps for plunder, and perhaps 
for devotion, at the awful hour when the city was being 
overwhelmed; the ashes, pressing against the door 
without, rendered escape impossible. What were his 
feelings none can tell; but the position of the form 
shows that he struggled terribly for life. A hatchet 
was in his hand, and on the walls, one of which he 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 339 

had beaten through, were marks where he had been 
endeavoring to cut his way out of prison, but in vain. 
The thick wall resisted all his efforts; the ashen rain 
fell faster; and the noxious gases, sifting into his nar¬ 
row sepulcher, soon destroyed his life. 

In another place, a priest was found sitting at the 
table eating. The remains of his dinner were before 
him. The remnant of an egg and the limb of a fowl 1 
tell us on what he was making his repast. Driven in 
from more public duties, he sat down to eat, thinking 
the storm would soon cease. Now and then, as he 
hummed a low tune, or breathed a superstitious prayer, 
he looked out upon the mountain that thundered, light¬ 
ened, bellowed, and blazed full before him, and won¬ 
dered what new display the gods were about to make. 
And there he sat, the room insensibly filling up with 
the vapor, which soon destroyed respiration; and, bow¬ 
ing his head upon his hand, he fell asleep, to wake no 
more. The temple was soon covered with the ashes, 
which, forcing their way into the room, made a wind¬ 
ing-sheet for the victim. 

In another room, a priest was found with a handful 
of coin, which he had probably stolen in the hour 
when fear prevailed in every breast. Stopping to count 
his treasure, or to look for more, he stopped too long ; 
and, with the spoils in his hand, he died. Other priests 
were found, enabling us to conjecture, from the posi¬ 
tions in which they were, that death came very unex¬ 
pectedly, while they were attending to ordinary duties. 
Who they were, and how they felt, none can tell; but 
when ages had rolled away, they were found in the 
temple of their idolatry, victims at an altar where they 
had often caused human blood to flow in torrents. 


1 Cleaveland’s Visit to Pompeii. 


340 


EUROPA. 


The stranger visits in succession the Theater, the 
Pantheon, the Forum, the Senate House, the Temple 
of Justice, all of which are so far perfect, that the 
purpose for which they were used cannot be mistaken. 
They are generally built of brick, and covered with 
marble and stucco, and, in their day, must have been 
beautiful in the extreme. 

The Amphitheater is a vast stone building, four hun¬ 
dred and thirty feet long and three hundred and thirty- 
five feet wide, oval in form, and used for gladiatorial 
shows. In the vaults below were kept the beasts and 
the unfortunate men who were compelled to meet them 
in deadly combat. A skeleton found near the Amphi-. 
theater is supposed to have been a gladiator who was 
in the arena at the time, or who was waiting for the 
storm to subside, in order that the assembly might con¬ 
vene. But he encountered a more terrible foe than the 
lion chafed and wounded. Heath met him, and the 
gladiator fell in such a contest as he had never engaged 
in before. His weapons were powerless, his strength 
useless ; and he lay down to die, with scarcely an 
effort to withstand the giant against whom he was 
contending. 

The streets of Pompeii are generally narrow, some 
of them having raised footwalks. They are commonly 
paved with lava, and are well worn. It seems as if 
ages had roamed over them before they were buried 
up. A r ou walk them, looking up now to stores, and 
then upon public buildings, remembering that here was 
found a skeleton crushed under a falling column, and 
there, under the ashes, were found a mother and her 
babe. The appearance of the city is much as one of 
our most beautiful modern cities would be, if, on some 
terrible night, it should be covered up by a shower of 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


341 


ashes, stones, and lava, and, after a while, should be 
dug out and uncovered, and should be found with the 
roofs all broken in, the windows and doors gone or 
shattered, and the walls standing, with the stone fronts 
and fine columns, in many cases, uninjured. Some¬ 
thing as one feels when he walks though a street the 
houses on both sides of which have been shaken down 
by a tornado, or swept by an extensive conflagration, 
leaving nothing but rocks and ruins, tenantless walls 
and crumbling remains, does he feel when pursuing 
his way through the streets of Pompeii. He does not 
wish to. speak; the spirits of the past seem to be 
around him; he converses with forgotten ages, and 
leaves the spot saying, “ I have seen a vision.” Again 
and again does he turn back, gazing first on the de¬ 
stroyer, and then on the destroyed. Fancy again re¬ 
builds the city, makes it active with life, and vocal with 
pleasure and industry. The Temple of Isis, of Jupi¬ 
ter, of Venus, the Forum, the Amphitheater, the houses 
of the noble citizens, are all as they were ere the terri¬ 
ble overthrow. He looks upon the mountain, which, 
while he gazes, becomes agitated and troubled. Down 
its sides flow torrents of lava; from its summit, around 
which shadows and specters dance, pour the shower 
of ashes and the tides of boiling water which fall on 
the city below. Consternation seizes the people. One 
loud, mighty cry — “ To the sea ! to the sea ! ” — arises 
from priest and poet, gladiator and senator; and out 
they sweep, masters and slaves, leaving behind them 
houses and lands, and, in many cases, sick and aged 
friends. Still he gazes; but the people are gone, the 
mountain is quiet, and nought remains of Pompeii but 
forty acres of ruins, and a vast pile of sepulchers, 
which are covered with the dust of eighteen centuries. 


342 


EUROPA. 


The articles of household furniture, and such like, 
are deposited in the Museum at Naples, and are rich in 
their variety. The building itself is a magnificent 
one, and its contents are all interesting as antiquities. 
We passed through some fifteen or twenty rooms and 
galleries, each one devoted to some particular collection 
of relics. Here are the rooms for mosaics and fres¬ 
coes, filled with well-preserved paintings of men, birds, 
beasts, reptiles, graces, sibyls, angels, and devils which 
have been found in the exhumed houses; the statuary 
rooms, eloquent with the stately forms of kings, war¬ 
riors, priests, and senators; the Egyptian rooms, with 
many a curious thing from the land of the Pharaohs, 
such as mummies, male and female, in the different 
stages of unrollment; the jewelry rooms, where are 
rings, pins, cameos, of all sizes, and of immense value, 
taken from the limbs of the skeletons found in the cities 
which Vesuvius destroyed ; the room for cooking uten¬ 
sils, of all kinds, from a tin pot to a cook stove; and 
so on, to the end of the catalogue. Time would fail to 
describe the objects of interest which, after the burial 
of centuries, are here classified and arranged, to the 
amazement of all who visit the place. Here is the 
petrified body of Diomede; a statue found in the Tem¬ 
ple of Isis ; an alabaster jar of fragrant balsam, nearly 
two thousand years old, in a tolerable state of preserva¬ 
tion, as it was taken from an apothecary shop; chan¬ 
deliers from the house of Diomede; the ancient stocks 
in which the two skeletons were found made fast; the 
skull of the sentinel, in his rusty armor, as he was 
found at the gate, on duty still in death. Besides 
these, we saw eggs, meat, soup, bread, fruit of various 
kinds, so wonderfully preserved, that none could mis¬ 
take them. 


HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 


343 


What new wonders will be discovered, what other 
skeletons will yet be found, what new revelations will 
yet be made, none can tell; but doubtless, as street 
after street and building after building are uncovered, 
new developments will be made, and new light thrown 
upon the dark history of the past. The articles al¬ 
ready disinterred teach us the perfection to which the 
arts were carried by the ancients, and show us a re¬ 
markable similarity in many of the household utensils 
of the past and the present times. I regard the day 
spent in visiting Pompeii, and the night previous, which 
was employed in climbing the sides of Vesuvius, as the 
most remarkable of my whole tour. The scenes wit¬ 
nessed are the greenest and freshest in my remembrance, 
and doubtless will be the last which will be obliterated 
from my memory. I seem still to walk the streets of 
Pompeii, and gaze upon the relics of the past. 


EUROPA. 


344 


XXVII. 

VESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 

This mountain is thirty-six hundred and eighty feet 
high, and for ages has been the scene of violent convul¬ 
sions, which have increased in frequency with the lapse 
of time. The first of which we have any authentic 
account is that which buried Herculaneum and Pom¬ 
peii. This was followed by other and less destructive 
eruptions in 203, 472, 512, 685, 993, 1036, 1306, 
1631, 1730, 1766, 1779, 1794, and more frequently 
during the present century. Some of these have been 
very violent and destructive, and have carried terror 
through all the towns and cities which lie scattered 
around its base. That of 1794 shook down and over¬ 
whelmed the houses of Torre del Greco, a town of 

some twenty thousand inhabitants; that of 1822 sent 

% 

forth such showers of ashes, that they w T ere flying for 
more than a hundred miles, and the sun was darkened 
at noonday the region round about. Almost every 
year, the mountain shows some fearful signs and utters 
its terrific anathemas. 

We set off to visit it, one night, about midnight. 
As we took our places in the carriage, a fine balloon, 
splendidly illuminated, ascended from a distant part of 
the city, like a globe of fire burning over our heads 
a while, and was finally lost in the clouds. It was 

t 

sent up in honor of some saint; but we enjoyed it 
as much, as we rode along, as if it were a tribute of 


VESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 345 

• 

respect to our worthy selves. We drove as far as Por- 
tici, where we exchanged our carriage for horses. I 
had never rode horseback an hour in my life; and the 
idea of climbing up the side of the mountain in this 
way did not please me. However, the gentle horse was 
given to me, and I mounted with some forebodings. 
Neither of us could boast of horses; for five such 
looking creatures are seldom brought together ; but as 
they were the best we could get, we started in sing^^r 
file, Joseph leading off. We had driven out about a 
quarter of a mile, when the animal I rode, without 
cause or provocation, in as fine a street as ever was, 
plunged headlong upon the pavements, sending me 
sprawling upon the stones, to the great amusement of 
my companions. I succeeded in getting up myself, 
with a bruised knee and an aching head; but my 
horse, gentle creature, waited to be helped up. We 
finally got him upon his feet, when I persisted in ex¬ 
changing with the guide, who was riding a nice little 
creature, and which, after a deal of scolding, he gave 
up. I mounted, and found my condition vastly im¬ 
proved ; and we again set forth. For some time, the 
ascent was gradual, the road winding and wide, passing 
along by cultivated fields and rich orchards ; but as we 
approached the mountain, these evidences of fertility 
were exchanged for a state of indescribable barrenness. 
The beds and fields of lava, now spread out as if lev¬ 
eled by the hand of man, and anon rising in dark red 
walls on every side, cast a dreary gloom over the whole 
prospect; and we were glad to stop, now and then, to 
gaze down upon the beautiful spectacle below, which 
stretched itself from the foot of the mountain to the 
shores of the Bay of Naples. Still on we went, by the 
Hermitage and the Observatory, up into more desolate 

44 


346 


EUROPA. 


fields, where not a green spot nor a single vine appears 
to relieve the eye or detract from the desolate scene. 
There are some places, however, on the sides of the 
mountain, where grows a vine of the grape of which a 
wine is made called Lackryma Christie or the “ Tears of 
Christ,” which is said to be very delicious, and which is 
sold at a very high price. Up higher we ascended ; our 
poor beasts picked out their way amid the fallen blocks 
of lava, now leaping across ravines, and then rubbing 
their sides against the tom and ragged masses, until 
the bridle became useless, and we gave ourselves up to 
the instincts of the animals on which we rode. About 
three hours after starting from Naples, we arrived at 
the base of the cone, and fastened our horses in the 
crater of an extinct volcano, or rather an old crater of 
the still trembling and fiery Vesuvius. And now com¬ 
menced our toils. The cone is desperately steep, and 
we were obliged to clamber up over rough, rolling 
pieces of lava, which are set in motion as the foot 
treads upon them, and frequently three steps are taken 
backward where one is set forward. For a while, we 
toiled up the steep without assistance; but, at length, 
w^e called to several men trained to the work, who 
started with us from the base of the cone, who handed 
us leather thongs, one end of which was fastened to 
their own shoulders. Accustomed to climbing, they 
moved on rapidly, and gave us much assistance. The 
tedious work lasted an hour, when we found ourselves 
at the summit, and standing on the verge of the terri¬ 
ble crater, just as the sun arose in all its beauty, and 
poured a flood of golden light over the mountain and 
the surrounding scenery. 

At a distance, Vesuvius looks like a sugar loaf, with 
a small flat surface at the summit, from which a cloud 


VESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 


347 


of smoke is continually ascending. On reaching the 
apex, we find that what appears to be a level plain is a 
tunnel-shaped crater, with its yawning mouth about 
one third of a mile across, and verging to a conical 
point in the center. The morning was a very fine one 
for our view, as we stood on the east side, and looked 
across the crater towards the west, which was consider¬ 
ably higher. The ground under our feet was hot, and 
little crevices were emitting steam and smoke. The 
beds of sulphur, spread out all around, look pleasingly 
fearful; and the idea of the thin crust giving way, and 
letting the traveler down into the ever-churning vortex 
below, will enter the mind, and haunt it with forebod¬ 
ings of no very agreeable character. As we stood there 
on the verge of the crater, the deep below sent up its 
clouds of mist and steam, which now ascended towards 
heaven, and now, hovering over the mountain, complete¬ 
ly enveloped us in the sulphureous gases. We gazed 
down into the awful cavern from which have poured 
forth, in days agone, the desolating stream which has 
carried terror to defenceless homes and stricken hearts. 
The appearance of Vesuvius now is different from 
what it was when by it Pompeii was destroyed. It 
changes its form with every passing age, and spreads 
wider the barren covering upon the surrounding coun¬ 
try. Strabo, in his time, speaks of the volcano as ris¬ 
ing behind the beautiful cities on the shores of the sea, 
“ well cultivated, and inhabited all around except its 
top, which was, for the most part, level, and entirely 
barren, ashy to the view, displaying cavernous hollows 
in eineritious rocks, which look as if they had been 
eaten in the fire, so that we may suppose this spot to 
have been a volcano formerly, with burning craters, but 
extinguished for want of fuel.” 


348 


EUROPA. 


But now, instead of being cultivated and fertile, {he 
sides of Vesuvius are desolate, and the red masses of 
lava have a cheerless appearance. Far down the moun¬ 
tain, these fields of rough, uncomely pieces of lava, 
lying as they fell when the mountain was convulsed, 
are absolutely forbidding and painful. Previous to the 
destruction of Pompeii, that city stretched nearly up to 
the summit of the volcanic mountain. Beautiful villas 
were seen far up the wooded sides, looking down with 
smiles upon the habitations below. But now the villas 
and towns seem to be retreating as far as possible from 
the destroyer, and shrinking away from the base of the 
terrible engine of destruction. As we stood upon the 
verge, or walked around the crater, we cast stones into 
the abyss, which, rolling down the sides, gathered great 
velocity as they went, and tumbled into the cavern be¬ 
low. From the time they disappeared until we ceased 
to hear them strike, and rattle, and rebound, with a 
sound as of breaking glass, we counted eighty seconds. 

We took our breakfast on the summit of the moun¬ 
tain. Our guide had brought with him some eggs and 
other articles of food, which we devoured with an ex¬ 
cellent appetite. Our eggs we cooked in one of the 
little veins beneath our feet. With a cane, the soil 
was opened, and the eggs put in and covered up, and, 
in a few minutes, were taken out well roasted, and 
ready for our rocky table. While we were taking our 
singular meal, our guide related to us an account of a 
visit made by him to Vesuvius, some years since, when 
it was in a convulsed state. He acted as guide to a 
party of scientific gentlemen, who were engaged in 
philosophical investigations. When they arrived near 
the crater, they found several parties who had repaired 
to the spot for the same purpose. For some days, the 


VESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 


349 


signs of an eruption had been visible; and, as they 
drew near the summit, the very earth seemed ready to 
open and let them fall into its bowels. For a while, 
they enjoyed the spectacle with no apprehension of 
danger, though the experienced guide urged them to 
descend. At length, a few puffs of smoke, as black as 
midnight, followed by a stream of fire, with the sound 
as of breaking thunder, issued from the mountain, and 
the lava, scoria, and ashes fell all around them. Three 
were smitten down at once, one having the flesh stripped 
from one side of his body almost entirely. Then began 
a disordered retreat, in which eleven persons were 
killed. They commenced the descent upon the broken, 
rolling pieces of lava, and soon falling headlong, and 
tumbling over and over, were found below, mangled and 
dead. This tale added, if possible, to the awful emo¬ 
tions with which we gazed down into that lake of 
liquid fire, which had burnt there for ages in its ex¬ 
haustless dominion; and as we turned our eyes down¬ 
ward towards the fearful cavern, on the rim of which 
we sat, we almost expected to see it send forth its tide 
of burning ruin upon our own heads. 

A traveler visiting Vesuvius when it was more agi¬ 
tated than when we saw it, says, — 

«It was a marvelous scene, that vast black valley, 
with its lake of fire at the bottom, its cone of fire on 
the top. The discharges were constant, and had some¬ 
thing appalling in their sound. We were almost too 
much excited for observation. Now we looked at the 
cone of green and gold that sank and rose, faded and 
brightened, smoked or flamed; then at the seething 
lake; then at the strange mountain of lava; then at 
the burning fissures that yawned around. There were 
yet some remnants of day; a gloomy twilight, at least, 

DD 


350 


EUROPA. 


revealed the jagged rim of the valley. Down we went, 
down, down, to the very edge of the boiling caldron 
of melted lava, that rolled its huge waves towards the 
black shore, waves whose foam and spray were fire and 
flame! An eruption evidently was preparing, and soon 
indeed took place. We missed the sight; but what 
we saw was grand enough. A troop of heavy black 
clouds was hurrying athwart the sky, showing the stars 
ever and anon between, ‘ like a swarm of golden bees.’ 
The wind roared and bellowed among the lava gullies, 
while the cone discharged its blocks of burning lava or 
its showers of red sparks, with a boom like that of a 
bark of artillery.” 

Another, giving a description of the mountain when 
in a more terrible state of convulsion, writes, “ I was 
watching the motions of the mountain from the mole 
of Naples, which has a full view of the volcano, and 
had been a witness to several picturesque effects pro¬ 
duced by the reflection of the deep red fire which 
issued from the crater and mounted up in the midst of 
the clouds, when a summer storm, called here a tropia , 
came on suddenly, and blended its heavy watery clouds 
with the sulphureous and mineral ones, which were 
already, like so many other mountains, piled over the 
summit of the volcano. At this moment, a fountain of 
fire shot up to an indescribable hight, casting so bright 
a light that the smallest object could clearly be dis¬ 
cerned at any place within six miles or more of Vesu¬ 
vius. The black, stormy clouds passing over, and at 
times covering the whole or a part of the bright col¬ 
umn of fire, at other times clearing away and giving a 
full view of it, with the various tints produced by the 
reverberated light on the white clouds above, in con¬ 
trast with the pale flashes of forked lightnings that 


VESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 


351 


attended the tropia, formed such a scene as no power 
of art can describe.” 

Having viewed this grand work of nature, we de¬ 
scended from the fiery mount. The same distance 
which required the laborious climbing of an hour, we 
accomplished in less than seven minutes. We went 
up over rough, rolling stones; we came down in a vein 
of ashes. Convulsed with laughter and shouting to 
each other, we descended nearly ten feet at a leap, 
sinking in the soft, flowing ashes as if it were light, 
drifting snow, raising a cloud of dust, and setting the 
yielding body in motion all around. 

The traveler looks back to the toilsome journey up 
the sides of that quaking mountain with real delight. 
It forms an epoch in his life, to which he looks back 
as he grows old. The view which he obtains, whether 
the furnace is sending out its tides of lava, or whether 
it is in a quiescent state, gathering by a momentary 
slumber fearful powers for a new outbreak, he can 
never forget. It is so unlike any other object on 
which he can gaze, and withal so terrible, that he 
carries to the grave with him the acquaintance which 
he has formed with the rumbling, churning, smoking, 
storming pit, down into which no traveler has de¬ 
scended and returned again to tell the story of its 
fiery mines, which age after age burn on, supplied 
with fuel from the hand of God, and fanned by revolv¬ 
ing systems. 

And there they will continue to burn as age after 
age rolls away, and from time to time will flow forth 
the tide of fire, which will pour itself down upon the 
beautiful plains below, causing the inhabitants to fly in 
terror from the homes which they have decorated, and 


352 


EUROPA. 


the graves over which they have wept, to find shelter 
and repose in villages beyond the reach of Vesuvius 
and its waves of ruin. 

How poor, weak, and mean do the noblest works of 
art appear, in contrast with the magnificent works 
of God! The glory of Westminster Abbey and St. 
Peter’s dwindles away when compared with the ever- 
churning volcano, and the snow-covered ridges of 
mountains. Man is dumb, art is speechless, when from 
the open lips of nature God utters his voice. The 
creature is lost — he forgets himself; while high as 
the heavens, and broad as the universe, is God, tower¬ 
ing over humanity, yet reaching down to it; above all 
art, yet encouraging it; superior to all science, yet the 
Author of it. Such is nature! such is God ! 


THE ROME OF THE CA3SARS. 


353 


XXVIII. 

THE ROME OF THE CiESARS. 

There is yet a magic in the name of Rome, though 
its ancient glory has departed. Around that word 
clusters all that is noble and generous in republican 
government, all that is illustrious in wealth and power, 
all that is captivating in human greatness, all that is 
degrading in cruel persecutions, all that is dishonorable 
in treachery and usurpation, all that is base in duplicity 
and crime, all that is contemptible in wretchedness 
and ignorance, and all that is devilish in pagan idola¬ 
try and Papal superstition. Pure Christianity, military 
greatness, imperial despotism, and Popish absurdity 
have in turn swept across the seven hills, and chased 
each other along the banks of the yellow Tiber. From 
the death of Romulus, its founder, to this hour, Rome 
has been the center of the world — the object of in¬ 
terest and expectation, and in turn alike the friend and 
foe of man. 

We arrived at Rome, on our way from Naples, just 
at nightfall — fit time to.enter a city whose sun is well 
nigh set. Long before we arrived, the dome of St. 
Peter’s was seen looming up before us, like a vast bank 
resting against the sky; and as we thundered along 
the road towards it in a lumbering diligence, conversa¬ 
tion was suspended, and each one of our company, busy 
with his own thoughts, strained his eager eyes to dis¬ 
tinguish in the distance the Eternal City. 

45 dd * 


354 


EUROPA. 


“ Ah, little thought I, when in school I sat, 

A schoolboy on his bench, in early dawn, 

Glowing with Roman story, I should live 
To tread the Appian .... 

.... or climb the Palatine, 

Long while the seat of Rome! ” 

We arrived at length, and after being defrauded by 
custom-house officials, passed through the Porta Caval- 
leggieri, — where the French suffered so dreadfully in 
their attack on the city a few years ago, and at which 
they entered with the most terrible loss, — leaving St. 
Peter’s to the left, rolling down the hill, across the 
Pons tEHus, under the very shadow of the castle of 
St. Angelo, over which the Roman flag was flying, but 
beneath which French soldiers were leaning on their 
arms, the masters of the city, and the rulers of the 
pope himself. We found lodgings on favorable terms 
at a hotel in Via della Croce, and in a few hours were 
comfortably at home, engaged in making our plans for 
a general survey of the city. 

Rome is located in the midst of the great Roman 
Campagna, on seven hills. The Tiber divides it, and 
flows in its sluggish course through its very midst. 
'The best view is obtained from the tower of the Capi¬ 
tol, on the Capitoline hill, from which the other six, 
the Quirinal, the Viminal, the Palatine, the Aventine, 
the Esquiline, and the Caelian are all in view. The 
Capitol seems to divide what are called the old and the 
new cities. We look out from the elevation in one 
direction, and at our feet is the old Roman Forum, 
stretching away from the slope of the hill to the Pala¬ 
tine; conspicuously in front are the ruins of the old 
Temple of Saturn and the House of Concord; the Arch 


THE ROME OF THE C^SARS. 


355 


of Septimius Severus, in a good state of preservation, 
and covered with bass-reliefs ; 

“ The nameless column, with a buried base 

the pillars of the Temples of Minerva and Romulus; 
the winding Via Sacra, the favorite walk of Horace, 
the world-renowned Way, trod by emperors, warriors, 
and priests ; the old Coliseum, looking like some gigan¬ 
tic citadel, covered with the moss of ages, and gazing 
down with frowns upon the surrounding city; the Arch 
of Titus, with bass-reliefs representing the conqueror’s 
return from Jerusalem, bringing with him the conse¬ 
crated vessels of the Jewish temple; and numberless 
other relics of the dead and buried past. 

On the other side, the new city lies spread out before 
the eye. The Corso, black with the passing multi¬ 
tudes ; the Tiber, winding its way upon its noiseless 
course; the domes of churches and the roofs of con¬ 
vents ; and, back of all, the form of St. Peter’s, rising 
in its vast proportions and beautiful architecture, while 
all around is stretched the desolate Campagna, like a 
plain of death, thick with malaria and contagion. Far 
off in one direction are the mountains, whose sides 
are adorned with villas, vineyards, and tombs ; away in 
another direction rolls the blue sea, whose melancholy 
moan seems to come borne upon every breeze, as if 
sighing the fall of mighty Rome. My object now is to 
describe briefly some of the ruins in the old city — the 
Rome of the past. 

I begin with the Coliseum, the grandest monument 
of ancient Rome, which was built in the first century, 
for gladiatorial purposes. At its dedication by Titus, 
thousands of beasts were sacrificed, and for ages the 
arena streamed with human blood. Like other amphi- 


356 


EUROPA. 


theaters, it is oval in form, surrounded by walls, four 
stories high, supported by huge columns, and forming 
splendid chambers and galleries, which have now fallen 
into decay. The whole structure covers six acres of 
ground, and the outer walls rise to the hight of one 
hundred and fifty-eight feet, and would contain nearly 
ninety thousand persons as spectators, leaving an im¬ 
mense arena for the cruel combat. A part of the walls 
have been thrown down, and the building has been 
robbed of its decorations, to increase the glory of the 
new city. Though crumbling to pieces, it speaks of its 
former beauty and grandeur, and tells its horrid tales 
of assassination, cruelty, and blood from every fallen 
pillar and every broken arch. As I stood in the center 
of the arena, beside a rude wooden cross, which has 
been erected by Papal priests, and which if any one 
shall kiss, an indulgence of two hundred days is grant¬ 
ed to him, I seemed to see the flitting shadows of the 
early Christians who wrestled here with wild beasts, 
and fell martyrs to the rage of pagan idolatry. Here 
suffered, in this way, the illustrious Ignatius, the ven¬ 
erable Bishop of Antioch, who loved, and was familiar 
with, the apostles. Hated for his sublime faith, he was 
torn from his faithful church, and escorted to Pome. 
To his brethren he sent, from the very jaws of death, 
a comforting message. 44 Let fire and the cross,” he 
wrote, 44 let companies of wild beasts, let breaking of 
bones and tearing of members, let the shattering in 
pieces of the whole body, and all the wicked torments 
of the devil come upon me, only let me enjoy Jesus 
Christ. All the ends of the world, and the kingdoms 
of it, will profit me nothing. I would rather die for 
Jesus Christ than rule to the utmost ends of the earth. 
Him I seek who died for us. This is the gain that is 


THE ROME OF THE O^SARS. 


357 


laid up for us. My love is crucified.” He was con¬ 
demned to die by the beasts, and, calm and saintlike, 
was led into the arena. He looked upon the gathered 
thousands without resentment, and upon the ferocious 
beasts without fear. With an eye upturned to heaven, 
he advanced towards the lion, who sprang upon him; 
and soon his course was ended. Two of his deacons, 
who had followed him with tears from Antioch to 
Rome, gathered up his bones, and carried them away, 
and laid them down at the feet of the saints. Other 
noble and devoted men have suffered in this broad 
arena, and here sealed their devotion to Christ with 
their own blood; and now it stands crumbling to 
pieces, the wonder of the world. As you enter it, and 
stand amid its broken ruins, the oft-repeated prophecy 
will be remembered,— 

“ While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 

And when Rome falls, the world.” 

This vast pile, in its decaying grandeur, is an illustra¬ 
tion of the present condition of Rome; and one half 
of the prediction has been more than verified, and the 
decay of Rome has more than kept pace with the 
demolition of the Coliseum. The old gladiators are 
gone, and this, their battle field, still remains in the 
hands of Papal priests, one of whom preaches every 
Friday on the spot where once his brethren were 
thrown to the devouring beasts. His rude pulpit 
stands, and around it, once a week, the people gather 
to hear the word of God where once howled and raged 
the inhuman conflict. I wished to visit the Coliseum 
in the night, but did not. The words of Byron haunt¬ 
ed me; and oft repeating them, I longed to obtain the 
same view which enabled him to give, it is said by 


358 


EUROPA. 


some, the most correct and just description of this 
ancient pile ever written. 

“ I do remember me that, in my youth, 

When I was wandering, upon such a night, 

I stood within the Coliseum’s wall, 

’Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome. 

The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars 
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar 
The watch dog bayed beyond the Tiber, and, 

More near, from out the Caesars’ palace came 
The owl’s long cry, and, interruptedly, 

Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Began and died upon the gentle wind. 

Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 
Appeared to skirt the horizon ; yet they stood 
Within a bow shot where the Caesars dwelt; 

And dwell the tuneless birds of night amidst 
A grove which springs through leveled battlements, 

And twines its roots with the imperial hearths. 

Ivy usurps the laurel’s place of growth; 

But the gladiator’s bloody circus stands, 

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection ; 

While Caesar’s chambers and the Augustan halls 
Grovel on earth, in indistinct decay. 

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon 
All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 

Which softened down the hoar austerity 
Of rugged desolation, and filled up, 

As ’twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; 

Leaving that beautiful which still was so, 

And making that which was not, till the place 
Became religion, and the heart ran o’er 
With silent worship of the great of old — 

The dead, but sceptered sovereigns, who still rule 
Our spirits from their urns.” 


From the Coliseum we turn to the Circus ruins, of 
which there are several, still showing that performances 
were held in them which had a charm for the people 


THE ROME OF THE CiESARS. 


359 


of Rome. They are now divested of all their elegance, 
and some of them are only rude mounds, where the 
dust of ages has been collecting. The Circus Maxi¬ 
mus, which lies in a hollow between two of the hills 
on which Rome was built, was of extraordinary beauty 
and elegance, twenty-one hundred and eighty-seven feet 
long, nine hundred and sixty feet broad, and capable of 
seating two hundred thousand persons. It was used 
for chariot races, and the various other performances of 
the Circus. The immense assemblies which gathered 
here and in similar places, rising rank above rank, gave 
Paul the idea which led him to exclaim, “We are com¬ 
passed about with a great cloud of witnesses! ” 

The Circus of Maxentius, more perfect than the one 
just referred to, was also a noble structure, and its 
ruins are the study of the present age. There still 
remain the entrances, the apartments for the chariots, 
the seats for the nobility, and even the balcony of the 
emperor. Near by is the Temple of Romulus, the 
whole group forming a most interesting object of study 
and contemplation. There are also other structures of 
the same kind, more or less decayed, showing that the 
Romans, in their palmy days, were fond of feats of 
agility and strength; and well if, in our age, the circus 
was confined to these healthy and reasonable amuse¬ 
ments. They could be encouraged and patronized 
without danger. But whoever seeks this kind of di¬ 
version now, instead of witnessing the manly and hon¬ 
orable competition of the charioteers or flying horse¬ 
men, accompanied with patriotic speeches and songs, 
will have his eyes saluted with disgusting sights, and 
his ears poisoned with low and disgusting sounds, from 
which a Roman would have turned away with a blush 
of shame. The Circus of the first century was more 


360 


EUllOPA. 


reasonable and virtuous than its filthy namesake of our 
own age. 

The old Palace of the Caesars is on the Palatine Hill 
— a monstrous mass of ruins, through which, as one 
walks, he sees the lizard creeping across the pavement 
where once Augustus, Tiberius, Nero, and Titus trod, 
and where, for centuries, imperial power held its sway 
and kept its throne. These ruins seem only to tell of 
past greatness and perished glory. Enlarged and beau¬ 
tified by numerous emperors, it became one of the 
largest palaces in the world, stretching off in one direc¬ 
tion towards the Capitol, and in another towards the 
Coliseum, until its ruins show that a small city could 
have been built within its walls. Gardens and vine¬ 
yards flourish over the broken piles and the ruins of 
fallen arches, and the feet of strangers wander where 
once royalty lived and flourished. The outlines of this 
overgrown structure are now very indistinct, and can 
hardly be traced out. The hand of Time is rapidly 
effacing them, and the bounds set by Nero and Caligula 
to their royal residences soon no traveler will be able 
to find. 

The Golden House of Nero still lingers to tell of 
the extravagance and ambition of its founder, and a 
visit to it furnishes a good lesson to any one who is 
willing to learn. In these halls, now lonely and desert¬ 
ed, the monster lived and reveled in his iniquity; and 
the very walls seem to cry out against his crimes. His 
name is associated with all that is brutal and depraved 
in man. At the early age of seventeen, he poisoned 
his friend, 1 and then, to accomplish his ambitious pur¬ 
pose, murdered his mother. 2 His instructors 3 he also 


1 Britannicus. 


* Agrippina. 


3 Seneca and Lucan. 


THE ROME OF THE CASSARS. 


361 


barbarously murdered, to gratify his revengeful spirit. 
His wife 1 was divorced by him for natural causes, in 
which she was entirely guiltless, and shut up on the 
Island of Pandaleria, where he visited her, and com¬ 
pelled her to open her veins and let out her blood. 
Another of his wives 9 he also killed, to rid himself of 
her reproofs, given fearlessly, on account of his many 
barbarities. To gratify a wanton caprice, he set fire to 
his own capital, and laid the blame at the door of per¬ 
secuted Christians, and caused them to be slain by 
thousands. Conceited as he was cruel, he went to the 
stage as an actor, made some attempts at the composi¬ 
tion of music, and died, the object of contempt and 
abhorrence, a self-murderer, he having committed sui¬ 
cide, to escape the vengeance of his indignant people. 
And here stands his Golden House, shorn of its beauty, 
but not of its impressive eloquence, and its lofty power 
to curse the memory of its insatiate founder. 

Out a little distance from Rome, on the Appian 
Way, is the Grotto of Egeria, to which the emperors 
and senators of Rome, weary with the cares of state, 
loved to resort, to drink the waters of the celebrated 
fountain, and enjoy the society of wanton women. 

»Here, says tradition, came Numa to consult the 
nymphs, and here he paid his devotion to the God 
of Water, whose recumbent form, broken and wasted, 
still remains. The grotto is a rude room in the side of 
the rock. The walls were once frescoed, and give some 
evidences of former beauty. Moss and evergreen cover 
the marble pavements and hang from the ceiling. The 
fountain, God’s work, still gushes up as bright and 
sparkling as ever, while man’s work has gone to ruin 
and decay. 

1 Octavia. 2 Poppcea Sabina. 

46 


362 


EUROPA. 


Near by is the Temple of Bacchus. Converted from 
its pagan use, it is adorned with the fixtures of a Cath¬ 
olic church. There still remain about it the evidences 
of its former devotion to debauchery and crime. Retired 
from the highway, the old pleasure seekers came hither 
to enjoy a season of dissipation in the temple of the 
divinity who was supposed to look with pleasure upon 
their excesses. The building is rectangular, surrounded 
by marble columns ; and Pope Urban, who converted it 
into a Catholic temple, spoiled half its beauty when he 
gave it to a religion as senseless and abhorrent as pa¬ 
ganism itself. All around Rome are the temples of the 
old heathen worshipers, dedicated to the various gods 
of mythology. On the “ Ship of the Tiber,” an island 
in the river which derives its name from its form, JEs- 
culapius has his altar, around which tradition has hung 
a hundred fancies; the Temple of Nerva, between the 
Roman Forum and Trajan’s Place, has left its ruins; 
temples to Venus and Vesta, Jupiter and Saturn, Remus 
and Romulus, the sun and the moon — some in a toler¬ 
able state of preservation, and some leaving scarcely a 
trace behind ; some standing alone, isolated and dismal, 
others crowded in between modern structures, overbuilt, 
and fitted for the Papal worship, — meet the stranger 
on every hand, and speak to him of the buried genera¬ 
tions who erected, embellished, and enjoyed them. 

Several noble arches still stand, forming gateways 
for the city, or commemorating some splendid victories 
achieved by heroes long ago. They were the pride of 
ancient Rome, and draw to modern Rome a multitude 
of strangers. The Arch of Drusus, out on the Appian 
Way, was first erected, and has stood so long, that the 
inscriptions which once the Romans read upon it old 
father Time has obliterated. The Arch of Constantine, 


THE HOME OF THE CLESARS. 


363 


built by Trajan, and recast by him whose name it now 
bears, is covered with elegant sculpture, representing 
scenes in the history of the empire, and must have 
been erected at an immense expense. The Arch of 
Septimius Severus, erected by bankers and brokers to 
perpetuate the memory of one who in the councils of 
their nation befriended their interests, a structure mas¬ 
sive in its appearance and bold in its design, stands in 
the Yelabrum. The Arch of Titus, commemorating the 
destruction of Jerusalem by the emperor, and erected 
by the senate as a token of their respect to his bravery, 
is covered with bass-reliefs representing the overthrow 
of the holy city, and the return of Titus laden with 
the spoils of conquest. Of all the triumphal arches 
this is the most magnificent, and appeals most directly 
to the heart of the Christian, as it furnishes him with 
an eloquent witness to the truth of prophecy. Other 
arches rise in beautiful order, as the still standing mon¬ 
uments of the greatness of the now dead and perished 
emperors. 

The baths of Home furnish an idea of the immense 
wealth and prodigality of the old Homan monarchs. 
Those of Caracalla cover an area of a mile in circuit, 
and the ruins which remain are still grand and beauti¬ 
ful. The fine mosaic floors, on which are piled the 
fallen pillars; the exquisite carvings, broken pieces of 
which are scattered about, speak volumes as to the 
former glory of the place. Any description of the 
ruins would not equal the reality, or give an idea of 
their vastness and beauty ; and as we stand beneath the 
arches, or tread the marble pavements, we can hardly 
resist the conviction that these immense w'alls and 
towers were erected by a race having greater resources 
than our own. 


364 


EUROPA. 


The baths of Diocletian, of Agrippa, of Constantine, 
of Titus, are but little inferior to those of Caracalla. 
After the lapse of centuries, they attest the glory of the 
race of sovereigns by whom they were built, and are 
grand and glorious even in their decay. 

The best preserved building which may be said to 
belong to the Rome of the past is the Pantheon, which 
was erected twenty-six years before Christ, by Agrippa. 
It is situated in the herb market, and is one of the 
finest proportioned and most elegant buildings, as far as 
architectural taste extends, in the world. The orna¬ 
ments and statues which are found in St. Peter’s are 
not here, but a grand design and a noble execution 
speak out from these walls, which have stood the shock 
of centuries unmoved. It was originally a pagan tem¬ 
ple, as some suppose, and was dedicated to Christian 
worship by Pope Boniface IV. When we entered it, 
one afternoon, a service was in progress. Thirty-four 
priests, gorgeously dressed, were making the walls echo 
with their chants and songs. One miserable-looking 
woman was kneeling in the center of the building, 
with a child crawling at her feet, and about a dozen 
other filthy-looking Italians were scattered in various 
parts of the room, on little benches which were set 
against the walls. The woman clapped her hands and 
responded ; the priests sung and prayed as valiantly as 
if fifty thousand were present, while the rest looked on 
with the most perfect indifference. The Pantheon is a 
rotunda, with a fine dome, having a portico, said to be 
the most perfect ever known. The building was origb 
nally profusely ornamented, but the adornments have 
been removed to decorate the tombs of apostles and 
popes, and to beautify the palaces of the present de¬ 
generate race of Romans. 


THE HOME OF THE CiESARS. 


365 


What most interested me here was the tomb of 
Raphael, the celebrated painter. His bones slumber 
beneath a dome which his genius assisted to decorate, 
and every man of science who enters the edifice will 
inquire for the spot where they repose, guarded by 
monks, but inherited by decay. Around him slumber 
many of his fellow-artists, who have acted their part, 
and sought the oblivion of the grave. 

The famous Mamertine prisons are objects of great 
interest. They are beneath the surface of the earth, 
directly under the Church of St. Giuseppe, and consist 
of two large chambers, one directly under the other. 
A flight of some thirty steps leads us to the first cham¬ 
ber, which is about thirty feet square. The chamber 
below is somewhat smaller. Into this lower room the 
prisoners were formerly lowered through a hall in the 
ceiling, and allowed to perish most miserably. The 
light of the sun never penetrates that dark abode ; the 
walls drop filth, and the floor is thick with a black, 
dirty mud. In this awful prison Jugurtha was starved 
to death, living six days without food. A base usurper 
and a bloody tyrant, he expiated his many crimes in 
this place, his army of ninety thousand men having 
been slaughtered around him by the Romans. Here, 
too, Sejanus, the follower and friend of Tiberius, was 
executed. Crafty and ambitious, he used every means 
to remove all obstacles to his progress in the favor of 
his royal master. He even imprisoned the son and 
many of the nearest relations of the emperor, who 
finally became suspicious of him, and brought him 
before the senate, which convicted him. He was hur¬ 
ried away to the Mamertine prisons, and strangled 
without mercy. Here, also, we were told by our valet 
that Peter was confined by order of Nero. In the 

EE * 


366 


EUROPA. 


passage leading down is an indentation in the wall, 
resembling one side of a human head and face. This, 
we were informed, was an indentation made by the head 
of Peter as he went down into the dungeon, being 
pushed violently by the jailers. In the middle of the 
lower chamber is a pillar, to which the apostle is said 
to have been chained; and also a fountain of cold, 
delicious water, which is said to have been produced 
by miracle. The story is, that Martinian and Processus 
were led by the correctness of Peters life, and the ear¬ 
nestness of his exhortations, to believe on Jesus. They 
became disciples of the Nazarene, and yielded their 
hearts to the new faith. One day, being in the dun¬ 
geon conversing with the prisoner, whom they dared 
not release, they requested baptism at his hands. 
“ There is no water,” he replied ; 44 and how can I do it 
without water \ ” 44 You can pray for it, and God will 

send it to you,” they answered. The apostle fell on 
his knees, commended the converts to the grace of God, 
and prayed that he would furnish water for the baptis¬ 
mal service. When he arose, a fountain sweet and 
pure gushed up from the very spot which had been 
pressed by his knees, and they received the initiatory 
rite into the Christian church. This may all have 
been so, but we took the liberty to doubt it, admitting 
at the same time that the water was the best we ever 
tasted. 

From these prisons, a passage leads into the dark 
catacombs of Pome. I wished to enter, and having 
done so, my friends closed the door; and though I 
knew I should soon be liberated, there came over my 
mind the most mournful feeling which I had experi¬ 
enced for years. A damp, cold chill sent a shiver 
through my frame, and as I groped about a moment 


THE ROME OF THE CJESARS. 


367 


in the dismal darkness, a crowd of thoughts rushed 
upon me, such as I have seldom known. I seemed to 
have stepped down into the vestibule of death, and lost 
my connection with living men, and the mind rushed 
along the dark passage; and when the door opened, 
and I stepped out again into the prison and the torch¬ 
light, my spirit seemed to have lingered with the bones 
of martyrs in the mighty catacombs. Leaving the 
dungeon, we noticed a bass-relief representing Peter 
pouring water upon the head of the jailers, as they 
kneel before him. But, however much we may believe 
of these traditions, we know that Peter and Paul too 
were confined in these prisons — the former for the 
space of nine months, after which time he was taken 
out and crucified with his head downward. The spot 
on which the Vatican now* stands is supposed to have 
been the scene of his awful martyrdom. 

Not far from these prisons is the “ Tarpeian Pock,” 
or “ Traitor’s Leap,” down which those persons con¬ 
demned for treason were obliged to cast themselves. 
This rock derives its name from Tarpeia, the daughter 
of a Poman magistrate, who betrayed Pome, and, for 
gold, opened the gates of the city to the Sabines. 
They entered, and, instead of redeeming their pledges, 
they cast their shields upon her in derision, until she 
died beneath the weight. She was buried near the 
place, and the rock took her name. It is nothing more 
nor less than a high, rough, abrupt precipice, on the 
southern side of the Capitoline Hill, some seventy or 
eighty feet in hight. Condemned criminals were 
brought here, and cast down upon the rocks below ; 
and, though this custom has expired, the “ Traitor’s 
Leap ” is pointed out as one of the spots known and 
familiarized by its connection with the death of many 
a convicted felon. 


368 


EUROPA. 


I would not close this brief and imperfect account of 
the ruins of ancient Rome without a reference to the 
tombs of the now perished nobility of other days. And 
first we went to the tomb of the Scipios, out on the Ap- 
pian Way— several subterranean chambers, over wdiich 
waves a solitary cypress tree. We knocked loudly at 
a rough gate, which was opened by a gypsy girl, with 
a straw hat and a loose dress, none too long, — a per¬ 
fect Bloomer, — who threw back the tresses of her 
flowing hair, which fell loosely upon her shoulders, and 
gave us candles, and ran singing along before us into 
the tomb of perished greatness. We groped our way 
along the hollow chambers, deciphering, as best we 
could, the inscriptions which identify the place, to the 
very spot where once the ashes of Scipio Barbatus, 
now scattered and lost, reposed in death. The very 
graves of the illustrious family have been robbed by 
the popes, to fill up the Vatican, and a gypsy woman 
and her daughter occupy the tomb itself. Time, the 
leveler of all things, the destroyer of man and his work, 
has been here, and with his breath scattered the dust 
of men who once lived in honor, but whose names are 
now almost unknown, and over whose sepulchers not a 
tear is shed by sage or poet. 

The tomb of Caius Cestius, remarkable as being a 
pyramid, was to me an object of some interest. As the 
only pyramid I had ever seen, it claimed my attention, 
and was, perhaps, more observed on this account than 
from the fact that it towers over the remains of a trib¬ 
une of the Roman people. It is built of tufa and 
brick, and is covered with marble slabs or blocks. It 
is one hundred and thirty feet high, and at the base is 
one hundred feet square. It contains but little room 
within, the walls being nearly twenty-five feet thick. 


THE ROME OF THE CiESARS. 


369 


And yet I presume the dead care not what tomb en¬ 
closes, or what monument rises over them. I presume 
that death is not sweetened by the reflection that a 
marble pyramid will rise over the stricken body, and 
ages will come to weep beside it. Here is a point at 
which ambition, pride, and honor die, and man is in all 
his weakness and his want. 

I might take you to the tomb of Augustus, which 
has been used as a fortress, a theater, a temple, and a 
tower; to that of Bibulus, which, for nearly two thou¬ 
sand years, has been adorned and assailed in turn; 
to the Columbarium, where the dust of freemen and 
slaves mingles in a common urn, and the ashes of the 
humble and the proud alike await the shock of the last 
great day. 

While viewing the remains of ancient Rome, the 
mind is irresistibly carried back to the times of the 
Caesars, when the city was in its glory and prime, and 
when these ruins were fair and elegant buildings, excit¬ 
ing the envy and admiration of all nations. One can¬ 
not help contrasting the Rome of the past and the 
present; and as a view of the ancient magnificence of 
the empire rises before him, he feels a greater contempt 
for the weak and inefficient rule which has destroyed 
the beauty and corrupted the purity of the capital of 
the world. His soul rises against the prince who wears 
upon his head a triple crown, but whose heart beats not 
in sympathy with man. 

But you have heard enough of this — enough of 
circus, forum, column, and temple; and we turn from 
them to another view of Rome, which we shall find 
more amusing, if not more interesting. 

47 


370 


EUROPA. 


XXIX. 

ANTIQUITIES — RELICS. 

There is a class of objects which I scarcely know 
whether to call antiquities or not. They claim an age 
which carries them back to the time of Christ, but have 
an appearance suspiciously modern ; hence I give them 
a place by themselves, between the Rome of the Caesars 
and the Rome of the popes. Rome abounds with relics; 
and some of them are so curious, that a description of 
them may not be uninteresting. Connected with St. 
John Lateran, a church which will be referred to here¬ 
after, is the famous Scala Santa , or Holy Staircase, said 
to be the identical stairs over which Christ descended 
into the judgment hall of Pilate. Whether the iden¬ 
tity of this relic can be proved is a question. Proof 
does exist to show that the house was taken down and 
removed to Rojne, and this spacious staircase would 
compare very well with what we may suppose Pilate’s 
hall to have been in other respects. But, while the 
identity of the stairs is very apocryphal, the use to 
which they are put is very plain. These stairs now 
lead to a little Gothic chapel at the top, while another 
parallel staircase, separated by a wall, runs up on each 
side. There are twenty-eight of the holy steps, and 
pilgrims ascend them on their knees. The number 
who make the ascent is so great, that, a few years ago, 
it was found necessary to cover them with plank, lest 
the marble should be entirely worn away. One of our 


ANTIQUITIES — RELICS. 


371 


company, for some reason, wished to climb up, pilgrim 
fashion, upon his knees; and at it he went. The day 
was warm, and our friend was corpulent; but he went 
at it like a martyr doing penance, nor did he pause 
until he was half way up, and only then to examine 
the stains said to be the blood of our Savior, which fell 
from his head when he was stopped by the mob. The 
rest of us went up one of the parallel staircases, and, 
arriving at the top, saw our devotional friend coming 
up upon his knees. We received him with shouts of 
sacrilegious laughter, when he, having purchased an 
indulgence for forty days, began wiping the perspiration 
from his forehead, and brushing his knees, as if anxious 
to shake the holy dust from his garments. 

It was while ascending on his knees this holy stair¬ 
case that Luther received a deep impression as to the 
corruption of the church of Rome. Desirous of ob¬ 
taining the precious blessing promised to those who 
should make the ascent, he commences. One, two, 
three, four steps he has gained, when the word of God 
came thundering in his ears — “ The just shall live by 
faith.” He pauses, thinks, resolves, and, rising proudly 
from his knees, stalks down upon his feet, and rushes 
away. The work is done. The tie which bound Lu¬ 
ther to Rome is broken ; he is free ; and the poor 
Saxon monk becomes the disturber of the world. 

At the head of this staircase is a door, on the side of 
which is an indentation similar to that in the Mamen- 
tine prisons. We asked what it meant, and were 
informed that it was the door through which Christ 
passed, and that the indentation was made by his being 
violently crowded against the stone. We said that, if 
our heads should be knocked against such a door post, 
the indentation would be in the heads, and not on the 
stones. 


372 


EUROrA. 


“ Yes,” was the reply; u but your heads are not like 
that of Christ; ” to which, of course, we assented. 

We asked, “ Where did you get the fact that the 
indentation was thus formed 1 ” 

66 From history.” 

“ What history ? ” 

“ The Bible.” 

This was conclusive, and we let it pass without ask¬ 
ing in what part of the Bible the statement might be 
found, concluding that, if it was in the good book any 
where, it must be true. 

At this very same place, we were shown many very 
wonderful things, such as the table on which was eaten 
the “ last supper.” It was of coarse wood, about three 
feet square; and, from the nail holes in it, I should 
judge it to have once been covered with cloth. There, 
too, is the mouth of the well at which Jesus sat with 
the woman of Samaria ; the column of the temple 
which was split asunder when the veil was rent; the 
marble slab on which the soldiers cast lots for the 
garments of Christ; and various other objects of su¬ 
perstitious interest and regard. 

In some of the churches, we were shown pictures 
painted by Luke, and others of ,the apostles ; and from 
one end of the city to the other some relic is preserved 
to draw attention, and, what is of more importance, 
money — the cradle in which the Savior was rocked by 
his virgin mother; a remarkable stone, on which are 
the impressions of two human feet, said to be those of 
Christ, the stone being one on which he stood when he 
met Peter once in Pome, and said to him, “ Thou art 
Peter, and on this rock I will build my church; ” a 
wooden figure of the infant Savior, 1 carved by a friar. 


1 Called the Santissimo Bambino, or Most Holy Baby. 


ANTIQUITIES — RELICS. 


373 


who, having finished it, lay down to sleep. While 
dreaming of paradise, St. Luke came and painted his 
little image, which was made out of the wood of a tree 
found growing on the Mount of Olives. Henceforth 
the figure became possessed of miraculous powers to 
heal diseases; and such is its reputation in Rome, that 
it is said to draw a larger revenue to the church than 
is received from the contribution of the people. These, 
and many others as absurd and improbable, are pre¬ 
sented to the traveler as the veritable relics. Most of 
them wear the marks of absurdity on the face of them. 
The prints of the Savior’s feet on the stone are large 
enough for the feet of a giant, and the cradle in which 
Christ was rocked shows unequivocal marks of a late 
date. And yet the blinded and degraded people do not 
see them as they are. The priests tell them that this 
box was the cradle of Christ, that that picture was 
painted by Luke, that yonder image has the miraculous 
power of healing the sick, and they believe it all with¬ 
out hesitation. They do not allow reason to utter her 
voice; they stop not to inquire as to the probability or 
possibility of the thing, but rest their souls upon the 
mere tradition, which the priest, as ignorant as them¬ 
selves, utters in their hearing. 

And then, if the people had their eyes open, they 
could see that they are duped, even admitting that the 
relics are genuine. The use which is made of them 
is so absurd, the homage which is paid them is so 
ridiculous, that no reasonable man could endure it a 
single hour. All these relics are contrived as means to 
get at the pockets of the poor, and support a church in 
w r ealth and honor, while masses are starving. If the 
cardinals had human hearts, if they had not dehuman¬ 
ized themselves by their vows and vices, they would be 

FF 


374 


EUROPA. 


ashamed of themselves. They would refuse to spend 
millions in the adornment of the churches, while the 
bodies of men, the temples of Deity, are pale and thin 
from hunger and fasting. They cannot fail to see the 
universal misery and degradation of the people, as they 
ride out in their splendid coaches and enter their im¬ 
mense cathedrals. The voice of distress and the sound 
of anguish come home upon every blast, but they shut 
their eyes and refuse to see; they close their ears and 
refuse to hear. 

But the hour of disinthrallment is not far distant. 
The tide is rising higher and higher, and the waves of 
popular clamor are beginning to dash around the 
thrones on which these tyrants sit, and they will fall. 
The day cannot be far distant. The knell of Borne is 
now being tolled by the great bell on St. Peter’s, and 
present appearances indicate that Pius IX. may he the 
last pope who shall walk the chambers of the Vatican; 
or if not the last, one of the last. 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


375 


XXX. 

THE ROME OF THE POPES. 

What is denominated the new city bears faint com¬ 
parison with ancient Rome for extent, magnificence, 
and wealth. The number of inhabitants at the present 
time is only one hundred and fifty thousand, or less 
than five times as large as our own little city. Of this 
limited number, some fifty or sixty are cardinals, twenty- 
three are bishops, sixteen hundred and thirty-nine are 
priests, twenty-six hundred and twelve are monks, 
fifteen hundred and fifty are nuns, and eight thousand 
are Jews, who live in a quarter of the city appropriated 
to themselves. The government is a delightfully formed 
medley of religion and politics, the pope being alike at 
the head of church and state. A bench of bishops sit 
where once the senators and tribunes delivered their 
opinions and promulgated their laws, and every where, 
from the door of St. Peter’s out to the Campagna, are 
seen the consequences of ignorance, misrule, and super¬ 
stition. 

The streets are generally narrow, filthy, and unpleas¬ 
ant, and the people bear no marks of their former 
glory. No one would pay a large sum now, or risk his 
life, to be called a Roman; for on the countenances of 
the poor, degraded masses there appears nothing but 
blind devotion to oppression. The spirits of the people 
have been crushed, the manhood of Rome has been 
destroyed, and we look in vain for the fine traits of 


376 


EUROPA. 


character which once distinguished that noble race. 
Had an American city the wealth of Rome, — her 
noble buildings, her rare collections of antiquities, her 
works of art, her classic ruins, and her rich store of 
memories, — it would become a very paradise, under 
the free and enlightening influences of our institutions. 
But a pall is over Rome; the frown of Heaven rests 
on the city of blood, and all her ancient grandeur and 
present wealth cannot raise her above the curse. Not 
much can be expected of a city, however wealthy, 
where newspapers are suppressed, and the press is under 
the ban of an unbounded censorship; from which not 
a single railroad goes out, north, south, east, or west; 
where freedom of commerce is not enjoyed, and man is 
an ignorant and besotted slave to a tyranny such as is 
known nowhere else in all the world. Not much can 
be expected of a people who give the children’s bread 
to support an indolent and licentious priesthood; who 
rob themselves and defraud nature to decorate the 
tombs of dead ecclesiastics; who bow obsequiously at 
the foot of a throne which they know is red with blood 
and black with crime. St. Peter’s Cathedral loses its 
grandeur when I see it filled with a starved and impov¬ 
erished people, who rise from their knees and leave 
their devotions to beg a penny of the traveler who 
wanders up the sounding aisle. The Vatican has no 
power to charm, when from its windows I look out 
upon a swelling, heaving, surging sea of wretchedness, 
which the streets of Rome ever present. 

But we will forget this a while, and wander about 
among the objects of interest which here abound. The 
great central object of attraction is the Cathedral of 
St. Peter’s, which is supposed to be upon or near the 
spot where the apostle for whom it is named was buried. 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


377 


It was at first an insignificant little chapel, which had 
more the appearance of a tomb than a temple. In the 
time of Constantine, this little structure was removed, 
and a fine church built on the spot, which in its turn 
gave place to the magnificent Cathedral. Any descrip¬ 
tion of this immense building would fall so far below 
the reality, that I will not attempt it. It required more 
than three centuries to complete it; forty-three popes 
gave it their time and attention, and when finished, 
seventy millions of dollars had been expended upon it. 
It covers between five and six acres, (about two hundred 
and forty thousand square feet,) and is kept in repair at 
an expense of about thirty thousand dollars annually. 
The best idea of the building will be obtained if you 
imagine an immense circular area enclosed with the 
finest colonnade in the world, the front open, and the 
rear filled up by the Cathedral. In this area two fine 
fountains are ever playing, and between them a column, 
surmounted by a cross, rises to the hight of a hundred 
feet. The colonnades are formed by two hundred and 
eighty-four columns, sixty feet high, covered with spa¬ 
cious galleries. These form a magnificent entrance to 
the church, bending around the visitor as he advances, 
impressing him with an idea of strength and dignity. 
The front of the church is somewhat marred by a 
fa<jade, which hides the proportions of the building, 
and but poorly compares with the architectural design 
of the monstrous dome. Passing between marble fig¬ 
ures of Peter and Paul, we enter the church, and pause, 
almost overpowered with the effect produced. The 
colossal statues, the vaulted roof, the spacious aisles, 
the hurrying priests, and the wonderful dome, all pro¬ 
duce in the mind a feeling of awful sublimity. The best 
idea I can give of the immense size will be conveyed 

48 FF * 


378 


EUROPA. 


to you by the simple statement that twenty such 
churches as our own could be placed, steeples and all, 
within the walls of St. Peter’s, and the area would not 
be full. Beneath the dome the monument on Bunker 
Hill could be placed, and a steeple tall as ours added to 
that, and then they would not reach the dizzy hight. 
The hosts of Rome cannot fill the church; when all 
turn out and flock by thousands, priests, soldiers, and 
people, and all enter the temple, thousands more might 
gather there with ease. The form of the structure is 
that of a Latin cross, and in the center stands the high 
altar, beneath the dome, and over the ashes of St. Peter. 
The immense size of the church does not appear at the 
first; it requires time to recover from the surprise, and 
you must survey with a leisure eye the wonderful pro¬ 
portions. One becomes almost angry to see such a 
hollow performance in this cathedral. He is vexed at 
the improbable stories which are told him. He feels 
that they are out of place in the magnificent work of 
art, and has no patience with the guide who relates 
them as Scripture facts. Here, in an oratory, is kept a 
napkin, with which a weeping woman wiped the tearful, 
bloody face of Christ, when he was going to the cross. 
On this piece of cloth are still seen the stains of blood. 
During the holy week this sudarium is shown to the 
gaping people, by men who must know the imposition 
they are practicing. In another oratory is kept a piece 
of the true cross. A wonderful thing that “ true 
cross ” must have been; for the true church, the infal¬ 
lible church, have pieces enough of it laid up to build 
a ship; and what is somewhat curious, it is one kind 
of wood in one place, and another sort in another 
place; showing, if all these be veritable pieces of it, 
it must have been composed of some dozen trees. But 


I 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 379 

the people never think of these things. The priest or 
the pope tells them so, and they ask no questions, cher¬ 
ish no doubt, express no unbelief. In another place is 
the head of St. Andrew, or a skull which is said to be 
his. Some few years ago, this relic was stolen, and the 
pope went into mourning on its account. He offered a 
large reward for its recovery. When stolen, it was 
covered up with jewelry of great value. The thief 
took off the jewels, and threw the worthless skull 
away. He was a wiser and a better man, perhaps, than 
the pope, who valued the skull more than its adorn¬ 
ments. It was found, and great joy manifested at its 
recovery. Bells were rung; the monks of the neigh¬ 
boring convents turned out in solemn procession; the 
cannon of old St. Angelo thundered over the Tiber; 
and the pope gave to the people an extra benediction. 

Here, too, is the old bronze statue of Jupiter, which 
has been christened by one of the popes 1 as St. Peter. 
He is sitting in a chair, with one of his feet extended, 
the toe of which has been completely kissed away by 
the multitudes who visit the place. One of our little 
company, anxious 44 to do as the Homans do,” as far as 
possible, performed the voluntary service with the ut¬ 
most gravity, while another, who seemed to have less 
reverence for the heathen god, looked at the feet with 
the comical query, 44 1 wonder if St. Peter had corns.” 

The most noble conception of the Cathedral is ob¬ 
tained by ascending the dome. A broad, paved, spiral 
staircase leads up so gradually, that most of the dis¬ 
tance could be accomplished on the back of a donkey. 
The summit is obtained at the expense of weary limbs. 
We reach the galleries within the dome, and look down 


1 St. Leo. 


380 


EUROPA. 


upon the priests and worshipers below, who all seem 
like children. Still higher, it becomes difficult to dis¬ 
tinguish them as human beings. From the outer gal¬ 
lery, beneath the cross, a noble view is gained of Rome, 
the old ruins of the past, and the broad Campagna, 
stretching away in the clear distance. Looking down 
in front of the church appear the piazza, the fountains, 
and the obelisk; on the left stand the Vatican and the 
pope’s palace ; on the right, the famous Inquisition 
house; before you rises old St. Angelo; along flows 
the Tiber, on its banks churches, temples, and ruins. 
We entered the ball, where we might have stowed away 
a dozen of us without much inconvenience. 

We were there upon the 20th of June, which is cele¬ 
brated as the anniversary of the pope’s coronation. On 
this day, he gives to all poor persons who come to the 
Vatican a half Paul (about four cents) each, for the 
relief of their wants. Thousands come from the region 
round about, traveling for miles to gain from his holi¬ 
ness this pittance. As ^ve looked down from the dome, 
w r e saw the poor wretches — men, women, and children 
•—crowding into the Vatican by regiments. We in¬ 
quired if the pope gave the money with his own hands, 
thinking, if he did, we would call and claim his charity, 
that we might bring home the piece as a memento of 
the old man. We were, however, informed that Pius 
IX. never did such dirty work as giving money to the 
poor with his own hands. We were, however, disposed 
to thank him for giving it at all. This little piece of 
money is given for every child or member of the fam¬ 
ily ; and many mothers we saw with one, two, three, or 
four babies, often borrowed for the occasion — good 
Catholics, indeed, but ready to cheat the very vicegerent 
of God himself. 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


381 


During the annual religious festivals, the Cathedral 
is illuminated in a most splendid manner. The whole 
structure is so lighted at night as to show the propor¬ 
tions of the building, with each pillar and projection, 
so that the whole appears to be one mass of fire, blaz¬ 
ing out, hour after hour, with great architectural pre¬ 
cision, a palace of flame, the admiration of thousands 
who have traveled far to gaze upon it. This grand ex¬ 
hibition is commenced at dusk, by the lighting of about 
six thousand lanterns, formed of white paper, so as to 
give the effect of a white light. This is called the Sil¬ 
ver Illumination; and while it continues, the building 
seems to he one sheet of silver, glistening in some su¬ 
pernatural light, and shining on, hour after hour, with 
a subduing aspect. At nine, the Golden Illumination 
commences, when about one thousand more lights, 
made of tar and other inflammable materials, are made 
to flash out at once, changing the whole appearance of 
the scene. In the midst of this flood of light, the 
Cathedral stands, one mass of fire, yet unconsumed. 
The bright light reveals every column, crevice, window, 
and door, and the church stands like a mountain of 
fire, surmounted by a cross which now seems lost in 
the clouds, and anon stands out with great distinctness. 
All night it burns and blazes there, while none in 
Rome thinks of sleep. The scene is too exciting ; and, 
till the last light goes out, in the dim gray of the 
morning, the Pincian Hill is covered with a dense 
mass of spectators. More than three hundred lower 
themselves upon that mighty dome, and hang there 
amid the fire, periling their lives for the generous com¬ 
pensation which they receive. This grand illumination 
we were not fortunate enough to see; but, from the 
description of it given by Romans, it was easy to im¬ 
agine its grandeur. 


382 


EUROPA. 


From St. Peter’s, we pass to a rapid description of a 
few of the other most important churches, among which 
is St. John Lateran, which is famous as being the first 
Christian church in Pome, the edifice having been built 
in the fourth century, by Constantine, who assisted in 
laying the comer stone with his own hands, day after 
day performing, as a religious duty, work which usually 
devolves upon the servant and the slave. Here the 
pope is always crowned immediately after his election. 
Here, too, have been held five general councils — the 
first summoned by Calixtus II., who presided in per¬ 
son. Three hundred bishops sat in solemn debate; 
and one\of the results was the celibacy of the clergy. 
This couficil convened in 1123. The second was in 
1139, and was presided over by Innocent II., and re¬ 
sulted in the condemnation of various heresies. The 
third was in 1179, and Pope Alexander presided. This 
council opened the floodgates of persecution upon the 
pious Waldenses, and let loose upon that unoffending 
people the hounds of death. The next, in 1215, was 
called by Innocent III., and contemplated the crusade 
upon the Holy Land. The last was in 1512, called 
by Julius II., to settle schism and agitation, which 
broke out in the church, and threatened the quiet and 
security of the pontiff himself. 

I here attended a service one Sunday afternoon — I 
believe the celebration of high mass. It was expected 
that the pope would be here in person; but illness pre¬ 
vented, and the service was performed, I was told, by 
the celebrated Cardinal Mezzofanti, who is said to be 
the best linguist in the world. The whole scene was a 
most ridiculous one. A procession was formed, com¬ 
posed of soldiers with glistening arms, monks with 
lighted tapers, and a dense crowd of people of all ranks 


THE ROME OE THE POPES. 


383 


and conditions. The cardinals, most of them venerable- 
looking men, who should have despised such folly, were 
present, dressed in their blood-red habits; the bishops, 
less gay and gaudy, and the priests, in solemn black, 
made up a very imposing spectacle. The service at the 
church consisted in getting up and sitting down, chant¬ 
ing and praying, bowing and kneeling. The common 
people appeared to he quite interested in it; but it seemed 
to me that the better portion looked on with contempt. 
I noticed an aged cardinal, whose name I could not 
learn, who sat with his stern eye wandering first on the 
ecclesiastics, and then on the people. There was a con¬ 
temptuous smile which seemed to speak volumes; and 
the longer I gazed upon him the more did I feel that 
he regarded the whole display as an imposition, permit¬ 
ted for a selfish purpose — perhaps, in his estimation, a 
necessary purpose ; and how this well-educated class of 
men can feel any thing but contempt for a large part 
of their foolish rites none can tell. Were they igno¬ 
rant, as are many of the nuns and friars, they might be 
duped and blinded; but they are men of science and 
cultivation, and must know the fraud which is being 
practiced upon the people. 

Connected with St. John Lateran is a noble baptistery 
which was built in the time of Constantine. A basaltic 
vase shows that it must have been used for immersions ; 
and it is asserted by the church that in it Constantine 
himself received the holy rite, which may possibly be 
true. This is the basin in which Rienzi, in a moment 
of sacrilegious fury, immersed himself, to show his con¬ 
tempt for sacred things. The priests tell us that his 
subsequent misfortunes were sent as a punishment for 
his unholy conduct. 

Almost all the churches of Rome have about them 


384 


EUROPA. 


something interesting and superstitious. The Church 
of the Capuchins 1 has deep vaults which are filled up 
as a burial ground. The earth in it was brought 'from 
Jerusalem, and is held sacred by the monks. The 
vaults consist of an aisle and six little chapels, or 
niches, about ten feet wide, eight feet high, and six 
feet deep. These niches are arched, and resemble 
niches in a wall. When a monk dies, he is buried 
here, and is allowed to rest beneath the ground a while, 
when he is unburied, clad in the very same habit which 
he wore in life, and laid out in state a while, when the 
bones are taken to pieces and scraped. They are then 
piled up in fantastic order. These vaults, on entering 
them, give a most singular effect. The arches are all 
lined with bones; skulls are laid up in piles; while 
the small bones are formed into crosses on the walls, 
and even the chandeliers in which hang the lamps 
which illuminate the aisle are of these parts of the 
human body, tastefully framed together. Skeletons sit 
astride piles of skulls, or hang suspended from the 
wall, while hands and feet, long and bony, seem to 
reach out in every direction. The monk who went 
down with us into this place of skulls — this Roman 
Catholic Golgotha — seemed to take great pleasure in 
the idea that he should, at one day, slumber in these 
•vaults, and be used up in this singular manner. 

Rack of the church are the cloisters of the friars, 
into which we entered. The cells are about six feet 
square. The monk sleeps on a hard board; no bed, 
no ) mattress; a single woolen covering only keeping 
the rough wood from a contact with the body of the 
sleeper. A rough table, a bench, or chair compose the 
furniture of the room. On the table, in one case, we 

• % r * 


1 S. Maria della Concezione. 



\ 









































1 










TIIE ROME OF THE POPES. 


385 


saw a loaf of bread, some burnt coffee, and, on a little 
shelf, a few books. The friars of this order wear a 
woolen habit, no stockings, vest, nor underclothing of 
any description. They eat little meat, and live by 
charity, and their reputation for sanctity is very high. 
They are of all ages, from the young man just entering 
life, to the old man in his dotage. Our guide said that, 
but for his wife, he should enter this monastery, and 
avowed his determination to do so when his wife should 
die. He seemed to have a most profound respect for 
these men; and when we left, he humbly turned and 
kissed the hand of the dirty, ignorant fellow who had 
led us about. 

Many of these monks take ecclesiastical vows from 
indolence. Being unwilling to work, they enter some 
monastery, and spend their lives in begging. Indo¬ 
lence is written on their faces, and ignorance stares out 
in an idiotic look. Others enter in times of deep af¬ 
fliction, when the ties which bind them to earth are 
severed. They feel that earth has few joys for them ; 
and, as their graves are not ready for them, they enter 
into these living tombs, and abjure society, and all that 
makes up honest social life. Others are forced here by 
crime or want, and by the various sins and miseries 
of life. 

We found the churches of Rome full of images, 
statues, and paintings, some of them of very great 
yalue. Immense sums of money have been spent by 
successive popes upon religious edifices. We rode out, 
one day, to San Paolo. The ancient church was built 
many centuries ago, over the spot where St. Paul was 
supposed to have been buried, and had scarcely a supe¬ 
rior in the world. In 1824, it was consumed, during 
some repairs which were being made upon it. The 

49 gg 


386 


EUROPA. 


work of rebuilding was immediately commenced, and for 
years has been in progress, requiring millions of money. 
When this church is completed, it will be a most mag¬ 
nificent structure. Along the nave rise forty pillars of 
gray granite, while waiting to decorate the altar are two 
Egyptian alabaster pillars, of colossal size and extraor¬ 
dinary beauty. In the walls are to be set two hundred 
and fifty-eight portraits of the popes, from Peter down¬ 
ward. They are transferred from canvas to mosaic, and 
are about six feet in diameter. Though years have 
already been consumed upon this building, years more 
must elapse before it will be complete. Millions have 
been spent here, and millions must be lavished ere the 
dedication can take place. 

And what renders this waste more censurable is the 
fact that the church is out some distance from the city, 
on the Campagna, where even the monks cannot live 
but a part of the year, and where the edifice can be of 
no benefit to the suffering people. On our return, our 
guide stopped and said, pointing to a tree by the way- 
side, “ Under that tree, Peter and Paul parted a while 
before the latter was put to death. 4 Go,’ said Paul, 
4 to Rome — go, founder of the church and friend of 
God! ’ ” 

From the Church of St. Sebastian, a passage way 
leads down into the catacombs of Rome. They are 
irregular, unlighted, winding passages, extending far 
under the houses and churches of the city. They yet 
contain the bones of the dead, and were doubtless the 
abodes of Christians during the times of cruel perse¬ 
cutions. 

Hour after hour, day after day, and indeed month 
after month, may the stranger wander about among the 
churches of Rome, finding some new object of interest 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


387 


and study wherever he goes. Beautiful statuary, finely 
finished paintings, and other evidences of taste and art, 
draw more admiration than the hypocritical service 
which is chanted at the altar. 

From the churches we proceed to the Vatican, the 
residence of the pope, where is treasured up the lore 
of centuries, and which is the most wonderful palace in 
the world. It stands in a fine position on the left of 
St. Peter’s, and communicates with the Castle of St. 
Angelo by a covered gallery. It has eight grand stair¬ 
cases ; two hundred of less size and elegance; twenty 
courts, and four thousand four hundred and twenty-two 
fine apartments. These apartments are filled with every 
thing valuable in the fine arts, and every thing beauti¬ 
ful in works of taste. Here the galleries extend for 
miles, the building itself being one thousand one hun¬ 
dred and fifty-one feet long, and seven hundred and 
sixty-seven feet wide. Here dead marble speaks with 
a living voice, and silent painting and lifeless canvas 
teach eloquent lessons. It would be useless to enter 
into any detail of the works of art which are stored in 
this noble edifice. Here, among the paintings, is the 
great masterpiece of Raphael, the Transfiguration, 
which has formed an object of just admiration from the 
day of its execution, and which, after his decease, was 
hung over his corpse, and worshiped by bowing, su¬ 
perstitious throngs. Other works by the same hand 
attest the perfection of his art. The Conversion of 
St. Jerome, by the talented Domenichino, like a living 
scene looks down from the wall, and whoever gazes 
upon it breaks out in admiration. The Crucifixion 
of St. Peter, by Guido, is so true to nature and so just 
to art that tears of sympathy steal unbidden down the 
cheek, while you almost believe that the dead canvas 


388 


EUROPA. 


feels the dreadful pain. Hundreds of others, challen¬ 
ging your warmest approbation, before which crowds 
gather, and which inferior artists are endeavoring to 
copy, assure you that months could be spent here in 
most interesting pursuits. 

Other doors open, and you stand before the famous 
Laocoon, copies of which are found all over the world; 
the world-renowned Apollo Belvedere; the Sleeping 
Cleopatra; the Belvedere Antonius, before which stood 
one of the greatest artists 1 of the world, declaring that 
he derived from it all the conceptions of the beautiful 
which he ever had ; the Torso Belvedere, the work of a 
noble Athenian, 2 and admired by artists and emperors; 
and all the endless display of statuary, wrought by men 
of all climes and ages, from a broken figure to a perfect 
form. You pass from gallery to gallery, now amid the 
productions of the sea, and then amid the trophies 
gathered from the air; now wandering amid the relics 
of Egypt, and anon admiring the classic representations 
of Greece. 

These public apartments of the pope’s palace are 
shown, without a fee, to all who choose to examine 
them. The library is not large, but well selected, and 
unlike any public library I ever saw, the books being 
concealed from the gaze of the passer by by wooden 
doors, profusely ornamented. There are some choice 
volumes here, and many manuscripts of great value. 

The pope has his private apartments, and on the day 
of our visit he had held a consultation with the cardi¬ 
nals, whom we saw driving away in great state, gazed 
after and admired by the people, ay, and hated too. 

Here at the Vatican is also the Sistine Chapel, or 


1 Domenichino. 


2 Apollonius. 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


389 


the private sanctuary of the pope. It is a dingy hall, 
and celebrated mostly for the great painting of the 
Last Judgment, by Michael Angelo. The painting, 
which is a noble conception and a glorious execution, 
is much defaced by time and the smoke of candles. It 
is sixty feet long and thirty broad. The dead are seen 
rising from their graves — the good and bad; the 
angels winging their way from the hights above, and 
sweeping to the depths beneath; the anguish of some 
and the joy of others; all stand out with striking 
effect. The great artist has borrowed his idea from 
the Scripture representations of the last day, and has 
made a picture worthy of his immortal genius. 

The pope’s chair of state is a plain affair, on a semi¬ 
circular elevation, and we sat down in it without deriv¬ 
ing any pontifical virtue from the act. In this chapel 
Pius IX. says mass for the living and vespers for the 
dead; here he blesses plumes and belts, hats and swords, 
and does a hundred other silly things 


u Which children love and fools admire.” 

The Capitol, on the Capitoline Hill, is visited not 
only for the view from the tower, of which I have spo¬ 
ken, but for its galleries of painting and sculpture. 
The visitor passes up the hill by the old milestone of 
Vespasian, the bronze horse, — from which, on festive 
occasions long agone, water ran from one nostril and 
wine from the other, — and various other statues of 
merit and celebrity. The Capitol consists of three large 
buildings, forming a square open on the front, and 
filled with works of art and offices for men of honor 
and labor. As the stranger wanders through these 

halls, he will note the Bronze Wolf, — 

gg * 


390 


EUROPA. 


“ The thunder-stricken nurse of Rome,” — 


which Cicero has rendered immortal as his own name 
and works, and which suckled the founder of the great 
and glorious empire; the Dying Gladiator, as 

“ He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 

And his drooped head sinks gradually low; 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 

Like the first of a thunder shower; ” — 

the Venus of the Capitol, none too well veiled for 
common gaze; and many a form of beauty, which the 
artist’s eyes never tire in beholding. 

The old hoary Inquisition Palace is on the left of 
St. Peter’s. What is in that terrible edifice can be 
better told by the miserable creatures who have escaped 
from its portals. What ingenious machines devised to 
torture man; what engines of horrid cruelty; what 
cells and dungeons; what living and dead skeletons; 
what chained wretches ; what imprisoned priests,—none 
can tell, except it be those who are more conversant 
with that place of blood than any traveler is likely to 
be, unless he is found reading his Bible, or speaking of 
Jesus to a perishing sinner, or, like Daniel, praying 
with his windows open towards Jerusalem. 

There are many other private and public places in 
Pome upon which I would be glad to dwell, did time 
permit. The old cloister of Tasso, with his papers and 
inkstand still remaining as he left them; (the old oak 
under which he sat has unfortunately been broken 
down;) the grave in which his ashes rest, and other 
scenes connected with his memory; the house of 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


391 


Rienzi, the last of the tribunes, near the banks of 
the Tiber; the home of Raphael, where he dreamed 
of glory and success; and many others of great his¬ 
toric interest, — are all here, parts of mighty Rome, 
identified with its past and present history. 

One spot I ought not to omit in this enumeration. 
It is the English burying ground, near the tomb of 
Caius Cestius. That sacred spot is unhonored by the 
Romans, for buried there are many Protestants, who 
have gone to the grave without any of the foolish rites 
of the Papal church, and of course under the curse of 
bigoted monks. But to the stranger, who knows not 
but that cemetery will be his own resting-place, the 
spot has a melancholy interest, and he lingers long 
amid the graves of heretics. There sleeps Shelley, the 
poet, whose heart would not consume, and on whose 
marble are words of truth and beauty. Another poet 
is here, who went to his grave young in life, and who, 
disappointed with this world, asked to have written on 
his gravestone, “ Here lies one whose name was writ in 
water.” It is John Keats of the broken spirit. Rich¬ 
ard Wyatt, whose skillful chisel on many a marble form 
traced lines of beauty, has a grave, shaded by flowers 
and the box tree; and all around, on tombs and urns, 
are English names, which, amid the uncouth appella¬ 
tions of the Italians,. sound familiar, pleasant, and 
homelike. 

We turn now from churches and palaces, prisons and 
tombs, to look at the people of Rome — from things to 
men. We know what the Romans were in other days, 
when no honor was greater, or sought more eagerly, 
than that of being a citizen of Rome. We know what 
they were when the eagle hovered over the imperial 
throne, and banners waved over conquering armies. 


392 


EUROPA. 


But how sadly does the present contrast with the past, 
and how few evidences of the former glory of Borne 
remain! No one would ever cross the ocean to see 
the Borne of the present; the dead past, lingering in. 
crumbling ruins, is all that draws the traveler to that 
fallen city. Without the walls, misery, which knows 
no abatement, reigns. Wherever on the Campagna a 
hovel stands, it is seen to be tenantless, or inhabited 
by a most wretched inmate. In the villages through 
which you pass on your way to or from Borne, in either 
direction, you gaze out of the window of the diligence 
upon a set of barbarians, who no sooner see your head 
than they set up a clamor for money, from which you 
take refuge in some stable or dwelling, to the door of 
which you will be followed by a group of men, women, 
and children, whining piteously enough to move the 
heart of even the pope himself. When you enter the 
city, you find more culture and refinement indeed, but 
you do not lose sight of misery and degradation. They 
every where appear; and at every gate, alike of the 
Vatican and the Capitol, the Forum and the Coliseum, 
they stare you in the face and demand your commisera¬ 
tion. There seems to be little industry and life. The 
classes that draw most attention are the barefooted beg¬ 
gars, the bareheaded friars, and the barefaced soldiers. 
These are met in every street, in every church, and are 
as thick as the frogs and lice in ancient Egypt, and 
about as repulsive and disagreeable. Amid the schools 
and colleges of the Propaganda, the people are left in 
gross ignorance. The means of divine illumination are 
taken away, and the voice of conscience is completely 
hushed. 

There are certain portions of the year when Borne 
may be said to be a gay city. This is during the 


THE HOME OF THE POPES. 393 

religious festivals, which continue a few months, and 
are conducted with great enthusiasm. The carnival, 
which continues eight days, and consists of a succession 
of masquerades, races, balls, and frolicks, is gay, mag¬ 
nificent, and foolish beyond description. The last two 
days bring out all the people of Rome, and thousands 
of strangers, w T ho resort to the city for the purpose of 
seeing the famous sports. Three days are spent in a 
gay frolick between men, women, and children, in which 
they pelt each other with flowers, sugar plums, and 
other confectionery, until the Corso becomes a vast 
trough of roses and sugar, in which the people wallow, 
to their great delight. The Corso is the broad way, 
the great thoroughfare of Rome; and it is here that 
pleasure appears in its most attractive forms. Families 
lay aside their aristocratic pride, and ride out in their 
carriages; strangers hire less imposing vehicles; poorer 
classes on foot crowd the streets, while the windows, 
verandas, porticoes, and balconies are filled with the 
delighted spectators. The route of the procession is 
designated, and no tide rolls in an opposite direction. 
Especially in the Corso is the greatest care used to 
prevent tumult and accident. The carriages are filled 
with men and women, young and old, gay and grave, 
who are armed with baskets of flowers and piles of 
confectionery, which they throw at others whom they 
may meet in the street, in other carriages, on the side¬ 
walks, and at the windows. The faces of the actors 
in this scene are generally masked, and grotesquely 
dressed, and present a singular appearance. As I did 
not witness this gay parade, the carnival having closed 
before my arrival in Rome, I will give an account of 
this scene in the words of Dickens, who, in a little 

50 


394 


EUROPA. 


work 1 of his, has an amusing and laughable account 
of these eight festive days, in which he participated a 
few years since. He brings us into the Corso just as 
the sport is commencing, and we will follow his ac¬ 
count of it. 

“ From all the innumerable balconies — from the 
remotest and highest, no less than from the lowest and 
nearest — hangings of bright red, bright green, bright 
blue, white, and gold were fluttering in the brilliant 
sunlight. From windows, and from parapets, and tops 
of houses, streamers of the richest colors and draperies 
of the gaudiest and most sparkling hues were floating 
out upon the street. The buildings seemed to have 
been literally turned inside out, and to have all their 
gayety towards the highway. Shop fronts were taken 
down, and the windows filled with company, like boxes 
at a shilling theater; doors were carried off their hinges, 
and long tapestried groves, hung with garlands of flow¬ 
ers and evergreens, displayed within ; builders’ scaffold¬ 
ings were gorgeous temples, radiant in silver, gold, and 
crimson; and in every nook and corner, from the pave¬ 
ment to the chimney tops, where women’s eyes could 
glisten, there they danced, and laughed, and sparkled 
like the light in water. Every sort of bewitching mad¬ 
ness of dress was there. Little preposterous scarlet 
jackets; quaint old stomachers, more wicked than the 
smartest bodices ; Polish pelisses, strained and tight 
as ripe gooseberries; tiny Greek caps, all awry, and 
clinging to the dark hair, Heaven knows how; every 
wild, quaint, bold, shy, pettish, madcap fancy had its 
illustration in a dress, and every fancy was as dead for¬ 
gotten by its owner, in the tumult of merriment, as if 


1 Pictures from Italy. 


t 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


395 


the three old aqueducts that still remain entire had 
brought Lethe into Rome upon their sturdy arches that 
morning. The carriages were now three abreast; in 
broader places, four; often stationary for a long time 
together; always one close mass of variegated bright¬ 
ness, showing the whole street full, through the storm 
of flowers, like flowers of a larger growth themselves. 
In some, the horses were richly caparisoned in magnifi¬ 
cent trappings ; in others, they were decked, from head 
to tail, with flowing ribins. Some were driven by 
coachmen with enormous double faces, one face leer¬ 
ing at the horses, the other cocking its extraordinary 
eyes into the carriage, and both rattling again under 
the hail of sugar plums. Other drivers were attired 
as women, wearing long ringlets and no bonnets, and 
looking more ridiculous, in any real difficulty with the 
horses, than tongue can tell or pen describe. Instead 
of sitting in the carriages, upon the seats, the hand¬ 
some Roman w^omen, to see and be seen the better, sit 
in the heads of the barouches, at this time of general 
license, with their feet upon the cushions — and O, the 
flowing skirts and dainty waists, the blessed shapes and 
laughing faces, the free, good-humored, gallant figures 
that they make! There were great vans, too, full of 
handsome girls—thirty or more together, perhaps; and 
the broadsides that were poured into and poured out 
of these fairy fire-ships' splashed the air with flowers 
and bonbons for ten minutes at a time. Carriages, 
delayed long in one place, would begin a deliberate 
engagement with other carriages, or with people at the 
lower windows; and the spectators at some upper bal¬ 
cony or window, joining in the fray, and attacking both 
parties, would empty down great bags of confetti , that 
descended like a cloud, and in an instant made them as 


396 


EUROPA. 


white as millers. Still carriages on carriages, dresses 
on dresses, colors on colors, crowds on crowds, with¬ 
out end. Men and boys clinging to the wheels of 
coaches, and holding on behind, and following in their 
wake, and diving in among the horses’ feet, to pick up 
scattered flowers to sell again; maskers on foot, in 
fantastic exaggeration of court dresses, surveying the 
throng through enormous eye-glasses, and always trans¬ 
ported with an ecstasy of love on the discovery of any 
particular old lady at a window ; long strings of 
policinelli , laying about them with blown bladders at 
the ends of sticks ; a wagon full of madmen, screaming 
and tearing to the life; a coach full of grave Mame¬ 
lukes, with their horse-tail standard set up in the 
midst; a party of gypsy women, engaged in terrific 
conflict with a ship full of sailors ; a man-monkey on a 
pole, surrounded by strange animals with pigs’ faces 
and lions’ tails, carried under their arms, or worn 
gracefully over their shoulders; carriages on carriages, 
dresses on dresses, colors on colors, crowds on crowds, 
without end. Not many actual characters sustained or 
represented, perhaps, considering the number dressed, 
but the main pleasure of the scene consisting in its 
perfect good temper, in its bright, and infinite, and 
flashing variety, and in its entire abandonment, so per¬ 
fect, so contagious, so irresistible, that the steadiest for¬ 
eigner fights up to his middle in flowers and sugar 
plums like the wildest Roman of them all, and thinks 
of nothing else until night, when he is reminded that 
this is not the whole business of his existence.” 

At nightfall, the military clear the streets, and a race 
commences. Several horses, painted, numbered, and 
gayly adorned, but without riders, are let loose in the 
Corso, and dash along beneath the people, who gaze 


THE ROME OF THE POPES. 


397 


down from every window and roof top with shouts and 
mirth. This senseless race is soon over ; the horses 
plunge through the silk which is hung across the street 
to show where terminates the course; and a new scene 
commences. Carriages again fill the Corso, crowded 
with beauty and life. Each person has a lamp, and the 
frolic consists in blowing out each one the lamp of his 
neighbor, and keeping his own burning. The Corso 
becomes a cloud of fire, which shines out from many a 
torch and lantern. Red, green, blue, and many a gay 
color flashes on the sight, until the whole scene be¬ 
comes one of bewildering beauty. We will trust to 
the same pen for a description of this brilliant scene. 

“ The spectacle at this time is one of the most ex¬ 
traordinary that can be imagined. Carriages coming 
slowly by, with every body standing on the seat or on 
the box, holding up their lights at arm’s length, for 
greater safety; some in paper shades ; some with a 
bunch of undefended little tapers, kindled together; 
some with blazing torches ; some with feeble little can¬ 
dles ; men on foot, creeping along among the wheels, 
watching their opportunity to make a spring at some 
particular light, and dash it out; other people climb¬ 
ing up into carriages, to get hold of them by main 
force; others chasing some unlucky wanderer round 
and round his own coach, to blow out the light he has 
begged or stolen somewhere, before he can ascend to 
his own company; others, with their hats off at a car¬ 
riage door, humbly beseeching some kind lady to oblige 
them with a light for a cigar, and, when she is in the 
fullness of doubt whether to comply or not, blowing 
out the candle she is guarding so tenderly with her 
little hand; other people, at windows, fishing for can¬ 
dles with lines and hooks, or letting down long willow 

HH 


398 


EUROPA. 


wands, with handkerchiefs at the end, and flapping 
them out when the bearer is at the hight of his tri¬ 
umph; others hiding all their time in comers, with 
immense extinguishers, like halberds, and suddenly 
coming down upon glorious torches; others gathering 
round one coach, and sticking to it; others raining 
oranges and nosegays at an obdurate little lantern, or 
regularly storming a pyramid of men, holding up one 
man among them, who carries one feeble little wick 
above his head, with which he defies them all; beauti¬ 
ful women, standing up in coaches, pointing in derision 
at extinguished lights, and clapping their hands as 
they pass on; low balconies full of lovely faces and 
gay dresses, struggling with assailants in the street, 
some repressing them as they climb up, some bending 
down, some leaning over, some shrinking back; delicate 
arms and bosoms, graceful figures, gleaming lights, flut¬ 
tering dresses; when, in the enthusiasm of the scene, 
and the fullest ecstasy of the sport, the Ave Maria 
rings from the church steeples, and the carnival is over 
in an instant — put out like a taper with a breath.” 

The carnival closes, and Rome settles down into a 
quiet state, and, instead of the Corso filled with a glad 
crowd of beautiful women and cheerful men, beggars, 
by legions, roam along the same way, cursing their 
very existence, and denouncing the cardinals as the 
authors of their misery. During the carnival, Rome is 
a sort of paradise — a heaven of gay pleasures; but 
when the carnival closes, hell begins, and the poor 
stricken objects of want and commiseration groan over 
their sufferings, and wring their hands in anguish. 
These festivals are held to cover up the wretchedness 
of the masses; but they cannot do it. They are the 
gossamer robes of pleasure, beneath which vick, crime, 
and wo appear uncovered and undisguised. 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHUHCH. 


399 


XXXI. 

PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

On the morning of the 1st of June, 1846, an old 
man died in the Quirinal palace. As soon as the event 
was known, one of the cardinals, Camerlinque, repaired 
to the palace, and went through the usual formality of 
striking three blows on the forehead of the dead man, 
and announcing officially to the people of Rome that 
44 papa was surely dead.” That old man was Mauri 
Capellari, on whose head the triple crown had been 
placed, and who had adopted the title of Gregory XVI. 
His death was not regarded as a great calamity. The 
character of the pope was such, that there was more 
joy than sorrow in Rome, when the tidings of his death 
were published around. His habits were loose in the 
extreme; and the well-known fact that on his elevation 
to the throne he fitted up splendid apartments in the 
Vatican for Cajetanina, the wife of an obscure barber, 
and her family, drew upon him the contempt of all 
decent people in the city. This barber and wife 
acquired so much influence over the old man, that they 
became the head of the state, and ruled the empire. 
That he was a man of notoriously intemperate habits 
was known in his lifetime to all Rome, and when he 
died few tears were shed for him, except by the wife of 

his friend the barber. So little was he respected, that 

✓ 

ere his clay was cold, or the worms had time to per¬ 
form their work, the people set themselves to getting up 


400 


EUROPA. 


caricatures of the man, setting off his well-known 
vices, and his incorrigible hatred to progress, and hold¬ 
ing him up to the ridicule of his subjects and followers. 
Two 1 of these are amusing enough for us to mention. 
The first represents the deceased pope knocking for 
admittance at the gates of Paradise. 

“ Who wishes to enter 1 ” asks St. Peter. 

“ Gregory, your successor at Pome.” 

“ But,” replies St. Peter, “ Gregory the Great died 
and came here a long time ago. Who are you that 
have taken his name 1 ” 

“Why, they called me at Pome Gregory Bevone,” 
(Gregory the Tippler.) 

“ O, I have heard of you; come in.” 

The second is designed to take off the pope’s objec¬ 
tions to railroads and other improvements, and repre¬ 
sents Gregory and St. Peter going together to Paradise. 

The journey being hard and tedious for an aged 
man, he complains to St. Peter thus: — 

“How is it, St. Peter, that our journey is so long 7 ? 
I did not know that Paradise was so far from the 
Vatican.” 

St. Peter replies, “ If you had allowed the construc¬ 
tion of railways and steamers in your states, we should 
have arrived long ago; but now you must stop for a 
while in Purgatory.” 

After remaining some months in Purgatory, where, 
* (as the story goes,) he met his friend Daniel O’Connell, 
Gregory set out with St. Peter again on his eternal 
journey. Coming in view of Paradise, the pope asks 
St. Peter, “ why the angels, and his last predecessors in 
the papal chair, did not come out to meet him.” 

1 These pasquinades are given on the authority of Rev. John Dowling, 
D. D., History of Romanism, p. 653. 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 401 

tc Dear Gregory,” replies St. Peter, “ as for the popes, 
there are few of them in heaven, and the news of your 
death has not reached there, as it would have done had 
you established telegraphs, and granted the freedom of 
the press.” 

When the saint and the pope arrive at the gates of 
Paradise, St. Peter asks Gregory for his key, which 
after some time the pope finds and hands to him, but it 
proves to be the key of his wine cellar. 

Presently St. Peter is admitted within the gates, but 
Gregory somehow is lost in the fog. 

Leaving the dead pope, we turn to the living one, 
whose name is Giovanni Maria Mastai Feretti, who is 
of noble birth, being the seventh son of an aristocratic 
and titled gentleman, who had more dignity of rank 
than length of purse. The younger son, therefore, was 
obliged to enter the army or the church; and as the 
latter has less work and more pay, Mastai became an 
ecclesiastic. He passed through the various stages of 
preferment; was made an archbishop in 1829, and a 
cardinal in 1840. When Gregory died, the cardinals, 
according to the usual custom, shut themselves up, and 
proceeded to the election of his successor. Five days 
were spent in an ineffectual attempt to elect some one 
to lead the hosts of Pome; but on the sixth it was 
announced that Cardinal Feretti was pope, under the 
title of Pius IX. For a while the new pope, after his 
election, pursued a generous and liberal policy, which 
gave great satisfaction to the people, who illuminated 
the city, flocked around the palace, and shouted their 
praises to their, new master; and when he rode out, 
they, in their enthusiasm, unharnessed the horses of 
his carriage, and, with glad songs, drew him themselves 
through the city. He dismissed from office the prime 

51 hh* 


402 


EUROPA. 


minister of the dead pope, Cardinal Lambruschini, as 
base a tyrant as ever lived, and who was justly hated 
by the people; gave encouragement to several minor 
reforms; disbanded a foreign guard which had attended 
the court; uttered sentiments friendly to the freedom 
of the press; and, contrary to all precedents, preached 
in public after his august coronation. The Romans 
imagined that the hour of their freedom had come. 
They looked to the pope as their savior, and blessed 
the hand which had removed from the pontificate 
Gregory XVI., and placed Pius IX. upon the episco¬ 
pal throne. But they were destined to a sad disap¬ 
pointment; and events were to prove that they had 
only exchanged one tyrant for another. The pope’s 
reform measures did not meet with the approval of the 
church. The cardinals and priests began to whine and 
rebel; the Austrian government sent over its protest, 
and Prince Metternich, who is called by the patriots of 
Germany “ Prince Midnight,” commanded the Austrian 
ambassador to resist every innovation which the pope 
might make on long-established usages; a Capuchin 
monk made an attempt upon the life of Pius; two or 
three orders conspired against him; a deep plan was 
laid to slaughter all the liberals in Rome, and carry the 
pope to Naples; arms were found, and money was 
pledged to carry out the plot; and to crown the whole, 
the Austrian army began its march upon the city, and 
Pio Nono was driven to concessions which a pope 
never made before. These demonstrations forced back¬ 
ward the wave of reformation, and stayed the progress 
of liberalism, which were becoming so‘prevalent. The 
pope, alarmed for his head or mitre, soon began to re¬ 
trace his steps, and it was not long ere he had undone 
all the good, and plunged into gross errors, which 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 


403 


armed against him the opposition of his subjects. 
They had tasted liberty; they had seen the dawn of a 
better day, and ardently desired to be completely free; 
and when the pope began to draw the reins, and issue 
his oppressive enactments, they rose up against him, 
until, on the 24th of November, 1848, the supreme 
tyrant fled from Rome in the jacket of a Bavarian 
slave, and found shelter from his loving subjects in 
the arms of Ferdinand of Naples, at Gaeta. 

Time rolled on, and the legions of France thundered 
at the gates of Rome, broke down the walls, restored 
the pope, and to-day he keeps his seat through the 
influence of two hostile armies, whose cannon point 
towards the Vatican. 

I was fortunate enough to see his holiness under 
very favorable circumstances; and though my admira¬ 
tion of the poor, foolish old man did not increase by 
the public exhibition which he made of himself, yet I 
was glad to be in Rome at the time. It was at the 
great festival of Corpus Domini, which is celebrated 
with great enthusiasm in all Papal countries. The 
origin of this festival is something like this: A nun, 
in the twelfth century, while gazing from the little 
window of her cloister upon the full moon, which was 
riding in the heavens above, saw in that luminary a gap 
or crevice. While she wondered what this could mean, 
a soft, mysterious influence stole over her senses, and a 
divine form appeared, and she was informed that the 
moon represented the church, and the gap was illustrat¬ 
ing the want of some religious festival. She inquired 
what it was, and was informed that it was the adoration 
of the consecrated wafer. She was commissioned to 
announce this to the world, and to commence the cele¬ 
bration of Corpus Domini, or Corpus Christi , as it is 


404 


EUROPA. 


sometimes called. Pope Urban IV. set apart the Thurs- 
day following, Trinity Sunday, for the celebration, and 
down to this day it has been observed. Many curious 
miracles have been performed on that day, and in con¬ 
nection with the festival. One of these was some six 
centuries ago. A priest in Bolsena, who was somewhat 
sceptical in relation to the vision of the nun, was one 
day engaged in preaching his scepticism from the steps 
of the altar, when drops of blood fell upon his surplice, 
and stained it in a most peculiar manner. He tried to 
conceal the blood, but it would appear on the outside, 
however he might fold his robes. In wild affright, he 
fell down and confessed his sin, and threw off the fear¬ 
ful vesture. The robe is kept at Civita Vecchia, that 
miserable, dirty little town on the coast, and is shown 
at the annual festival with much carefulness. 

Well, the morning of Corpus Christi day came, 
bright and beautiful, the Italian sky bending its soft 
arch above our heads as we went out to see the show. 
The streets were thronged with gay and animated 
crowds of people. French soldiers, in shining uni¬ 
forms, were moving up and down the Corso ; monks 
and nuns, friars and priests, wending their way towards 
the venerable and sacred edifice. Falling into the line 
of carriages, we crossed the bridge, by St. Angelo, and 
soon found ourselves in front of St. Peter’s. We were 
fortunate enough to secure good seats under the colon¬ 
nade, through which the procession was to pass. At 
eight o’clock precisely the stir began, the first rank 
emerging from the door of the Vatican just as the hour- 
arrived. Down by us came a large number of French 
soldiers, with stern countenances, and looks as grave as 
if they were marching to the field of death; next, a 
company of the famous gens d'armes , with their long 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 405 

swords clanking by their sides, and their iron heels 
echoing on the pavements; next, several hundreds of 
boys, who are being educated in the various Catholic 
schools and monasteries, wearing white robes, and carry¬ 
ing burning candles, and, as they moved on, sending 
out strains ot music from their young lips, deliciously 
wild and discordant; next followed the friars, white, 
gray, and black, of all the different orders, with large 
wax candles burning in their hands. The appearance 
of these monks was any thing but pleasing. Were all 
our prisons raked over, or the ragged school of London 
searched, no company of men could be gathered who 
would exceed these in base looks and sinister expres¬ 
sions. There were but a few good-looking men among 
them. The w T ild eye of vice or the dull look of indo¬ 
lence characterized them all. Their heads were shaven, 
their beards long and dirty, their feet bare, and their 
robes ragged and filthy. As they moved on by hun¬ 
dreds, they made the colonnades ring with their sacred 
songs, which came pealing amid the majestic columns 
in a chorus wild and grand. All the time the bells in 
the city were ringing in many a chime, the cannon of 
St. Angelo were thundering over the Tiber, and mili¬ 
tary bands were sending their strains over the gay and 
brilliant city. Still on the procession came, each order 
of monks known by the different flags and devices 
which they carried. The order of San Francisco were 
the most miserable set of human beings I ever saw in 
ecclesiastical habits. Should they march up to the door 
of any one of our poorhouses, the first work of the 
keeper would be to souse them into water, and wash 
away their filth. The Augustine friars looked very well. 
They were clean and tidy, and appeared as if they were 
well fed. Many of them seemed to be fine singers, and 


406 


EUKOPA. 


discoursed sweet music. Behind the friars followed the 
curates and priests of the churches in and around the 
city. These were better looking men, well dressed in 
black robes, and withal somewhat portly. Next, a 
higher grade of the clergy; then the senator of Borne, 
poor representative of departed glory, and with him the 
officers of state. These all passed along, with crosses, 
bells, banners, and all kinds of trinkets, and a louder 
blast of trumpets caused us to stretch our necks and 
strain our eyes for the next scene in the play, when, lo! 
a sort of baby training-cap, on a velvet cushion, made 
its appearance. It looked like the plaything which 
was put on Victoria’s head in Westminster, years ago, 
a very pretty ornament for a gay, unmarried girl. Then 
followed another hat, still more gorgeous, and then a 
third, each of which is worn by the pope on certain 
occasions. The people reached up, gaped, stared, 
and looked wondrous wise, as these toys were lost in 
the distance. An hour was thus occupied, when the 
bell of the Cathedral announced that the pope was 
leaving the Vatican. He came on, preceded by his body 
guard of soldiers, dressed in a singular uniform, which 
gave them a most grotesque appearance. They wear 
steel helmets, with flowing plumes; frocks of blue, 
green, white, and yellow stripes; loose, flowing Bloomer 
trowsers, similarly striped; stockings striped likewise. 
They carry halberds, and are very dashy in their ap¬ 
pearance, as you may imagine. Around the pope were 
gathered the cardinals, with blood-red robes, the most 
appropriate color they could wear. But the object of 
all interest was the pontiff himself, who was borne upon 
the shoulders of ecclesiastics of high rank. He rode 
in a car trimmed with gold, and decorated with span¬ 
gles. Over his head was a canopy of gilt and crimson. 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 407 

As this pretended successor of St. Peter rode along, 
with his head bowed over a golden crucifix, and his 
person covered almost entirely with drapery, the undu¬ 
lating motion reminded me of the awkward figure one 
makes when riding on the back of an unwieldy ele¬ 
phant. His holiness is a good-looking man, in the 
sixtieth year of his age, having been born in 1792. 
His countenance is mild, and has a benevolent expres¬ 
sion. There appears, however, a want of life and char¬ 
acter, and no one would mark him as a man of much 
ability and energy. In size, rotundity, cast of features, 
and general appearance, the pope resembles Dr. M. 
(though without the vivacity of countenance which 
distinguishes my traveling associate) more than any 
man I ever saw; and did not the pontiff have that dull, 
leaden look, and stooping carriage, which are not at all 
characteristic of my friend, one might be taken for the 
other. The Homans were often struck with the resem¬ 
blance, and with a good-natured smile would look into 
the doctor’s face, and twitter an unintelligible sen¬ 
tence, the only word of which we could understand 
was “papa.” 

But to return from our digression. The procession 
of boys and men, monks and priests, bishops and cardi¬ 
nals, singing and praying, groaning and shouting, 
moved out into the street, and up through the piazza, 
in front of the church, and into the sacred edifice, 
opening to the right and left, forming lines, through 
which the pope was to pass. Soon he came ambling 
along on his human horses, who were sweating beneath 
the burden. At the foot of the grand altar he dis¬ 
mounted, very much as a person pretty well frightened 
would clamber down from the back of an elephant. 
What took place at the altar I do not know r . The pope 


i 


408 


EUROPA. 


muttered; the people fell on their faces; the military 
men threw their arms down with a clash upon the pave¬ 
ments ; the pope spread his hands, and gave a fatherly 
benediction; and men, women, boys, girls, priests, 
monks, cardinals, beggars, thieves, Italians, Germans, 
French, all began to rush out of the cathedral pell- 
mell, crowding, pushing, running, stopping, swearing, 
praying, all in one delightful jumble, the like of which 
I never saw before. Seeing his holiness making his 
way towards where we stood, we put ourselves in a 
position to secure a most favorable view of his counte¬ 
nance. When he arrived at the spot where we were, 
he was seized with a sudden spasm of affection; and 
turning square round, he spread his holy hands, and 
uttered an extra blessing on us poor heretics. I was 
grateful, not so much for the benediction as for the fine 
view of his sacred person. 

With the crowd we rushed out of the church, and at 
the door met and shook hands with Rev. Mr. Barry, 
who had recently arrived from the Holy Land. The 
sight of a familiar face amid those strange scenes was 
truly refreshing; and though our interview lasted but 
a few minutes, it forms a little green spot amid the 
dashing waves of that tumultuous day. 

In Rome, the Catholic religion is seen in all its 
power and glory, ay, and in all its weakness and shame 
too. There is no government here to interfere with the 
exercise of its functions; there are no heretical sects to 
deform its proportions, and hinder its advance. Here 
are its throne, its palace and its prison, its temple and 
its tower. Italy is a very paradise for monks, and if 
she is not cursed, it is not their fault. They swarm 
like locusts, eat bread which they do not earn, live in 
houses which they have not erected. 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 


409 


One of the most striking characteristics of Roman¬ 
ism, as it is seen in Italy, is its unblushing absurdities. 
Wherever you go, you meet with some marvelous story 
which bears upon its face every sign of falsehood. The 
religious observances are mixed up with the most dis¬ 
gusting nonsense, of which a reasonable man would tire 
in a single season; and these stories are told, and these 
services are performed, by men who know their perfect 
folly. The scene which I have described is one which 
cannot be reviewed without awakening in the mind a 
feeling of horror and contempt towards its principal 
actor. An old man bedecks himself in tinsel and "old. 

O ' 

and rides abroad upon the shoulders of men, the repre¬ 
sentative of one wdio had not where to lay his head. 
The deluded people see him come, and fall upon their 
knees. The great God is forgotten; a mortal sits in 
his place. To man the prayer is offered; from man the 
blessing is expected; and the infidelity which wrapped 
the sun of France in clouds is not more blinded than 
the superstition of the worshipers of Antichrist. 

The holy week is full of scenes which one knows 
not whether to consider most pitiable or ludicrous. 
With all gravity, ceremonies are performed in which 
the great and learned engage with apparent delight and 
devotion. One of these ceremonies is that in which 
the pope washes the feet of thirteen men, who repre¬ 
sent the twelve apostles and the base betrayer. Thir¬ 
teen men are chosen who will best represent the char¬ 
acters. Peter is personified by a severe, impulsive, 
energetic old man, with long, flowing beard; John, 
by a young, boyish-looking man, on whose fair face sit 
gentle benignity and grace; Luke, by a fine, intel¬ 
lectual, noble-appearing citizen; Judas, by a dark, sin¬ 
ister, malignant, scowling creature, who looks the very 

52 ii 


410 


EUROPA. 


picture of hate and revenge. Some of the thirteen look 
as if they were just from the fishers’ nets, and some of 
them from the seats of the publicans. 

With a little scented water, the pope goes through 
the form of washing their feet, and they all sit down to 
a table spread with food, and this false Christ attends 
them, and hands them the dishes with ineffable grace. 
This mock service is performed sometimes in the Sis- 
tine Chapel, and immense crowds assemble to witness it. 
The pope publicly assumes the character of an impostor, 
and the whole ceremony is well calculated to impress 
the mind with the utter absurdity and the unspeakable 
meanness of a church which will, in the midst of the 
light of our day, practice such a rite. 

The empty form of climbing the Seal a Santa , which 
is done by thousands of poor, wretched pilgrims, on 
their blistered knees, with the vain hope that it will 
ease the guilty conscience, and give peace to the trou¬ 
bled bosom, is also ridiculous. It is so unlike any 
thing which Christ ever enjoined upon his disciples, and 
so unlike any thing which he ever practiced himself, and 
is so senseless withal, that no one can see the devotees 
toiling up the steps without smiles at their folly. 

Whoever lives in Rome a year will witness a round 
of folly which Boodhism never equaled. He will see 
the Agnus Dei borne from house to house, with the vain 
hope that it will save the sick and dying; he will attend 
the feast of the Annunciation, and hear the cry of the 
angels, “Peace on earth, good will to men;” he will 
hear and see the celebration of Christi Missa , or the 
mass which commemorates Immanuel’s birth; he will 
go to the Sistine Chapel, and hear the wailings of the 
• Miserere , as the thirteen emblematic candles are put out; 
he will hear all the bells in the city ringing, and the 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 


411 


cannon of St. Angelo thundering over the Savior’s 
resurrection; and will be called each day to celebrate 
the festival of some saint, to rejoice over the perform¬ 
ance of some miracle, and exult in the triumph of some 
new superstition. 

The absurdities of Romanism are seen also in the 
relics which abound in Italy, and the blasphemous use 
which is made of them in this and all other countries. 
One traveler, while going down into Italy, found, in 
the cave of some of the monks, an outline of the foot 
of the Virgin Mary, which was accompanied by the fol¬ 
lowing curious document, which he translated for the 
benefit of heretics : — 

“ All hail, Mary, Most Sacred Virgin Mother of God. 

“ Correct measure of the foot of the most blessed 
Virgin Mother of God, cast from her own shoe, which 
is preserved with great devotion in the monastery 
of Spain. Pope John XXII. granted three hundred 
years of indulgence to whomsoever should kiss three 
times this measure, and recite the 4 Ave Maria,' which 
was also confirmed by Pope Clement VIII., in the year 
of our Redemption 1603. This indulgence not being 
limited, one can obtain, as often as he wishes, the aid 
of the Most Sacred Virgin. It can also be applied to 
spirits in purgatory; and, for the greater glory of the 
Queen of Heaven, it is permitted to take from this meas¬ 
ure other similar measures, all of which shall bestow 
the same indulgence. 

“ Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.” 

Five or six years ago, in Treves, a German city, the 
Romish cause getting low, Arnold, the bishop, got an 
old piece of cloth, which he called the seamless coat of 
Jesus, and on various occasions multitudes came from 
all parts of the German states to see and worship this 


412 


EUKOPA. 


interesting relic. The bishop held it up, the choir 
chanted melancholy lays. The whole throng fell down 
on their faces, and cried, “ Holy coat, pray for us! ” 
“ Holy coat, we worship thee! ” “ Holy coat, thou art 
life! ” “ Holy coat, our hope, our hope! ” The descrip¬ 
tion given of this relic, by Catholics, is quite amusing. 

One says, “Its thread is so fine, and so strongly 
blended, that the eye cannot see whether it is woven or 
wrought with the needle.” Another says, “The eye can 
scarcely recognize the color; sometimes it is purple red, 
sometimes a beautiful blue; at other times it has the 
color of the yellow lily. An extraordinary emotion 
seizes those who look at it; sometimes they contemplate 
it with love; sometimes they suddenly look abashed, 
seized with fear and respect. It seems that a divine 
virtue dwells in this robe.” “ Masenius gives the exact 
measurement. It is lm. 76 in length, lm. 16 in breadth. 
On the top there is an opening to admit the head.” 

The history of this relic, as given by Romanists, is as 
curious as the description. It is like this: — 

“ At the crucifixion, the coat fell to the lot of a Ro¬ 
man soldier, who sold it to John and the women who 
were at the cross. It was thus concealed in the holy 
family and their descendants during the whole period 
of the persecutions, until its very existence became a 
secret. It remained hid for nearly three hundred years, 
until the ascendency of Constantine, when the Empress 
Helena visited Palestine in 326, searching for relics, to 
quicken the faith of proselytes at home. Among other 
discoveries, she brought from its concealment the holy 
robe without seam, the mystic symbol of the indivisi¬ 
bility of the church; and, on her return, is said to have 
deposited it in the church of Treves. 

“To this period succeeds a chasm of eight hundred 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 413 

years, during which the tunic was hidden from view. 
What became of it none can tell. It was not till the 
year 1196 that it w r as again discovered and exposed. It 
then remained hidden again until 1512, when it was 
exhibited at the request of the Emperor Maximilian. 
Since then it has been displayed nine times; the last 
time in 1810, for nineteen days, when two hundred and 
twenty-seven thousand strangers visited it. At each 
of these exhibitions, the most astonishing miracles, to 
which all the wonders of sacred story bear no compar¬ 
ison, were performed by the coat, all of which are ex- 
ultingly recorded, and form a gross and revolting history 
of imposture and superstition. At times the robe has 
had great popularity as a relic: Pope Leo X. granted a 
plenary indulgence — that is, license to commit any sin 
they please — to all who should adore it.” 

The miracles performed by this coat, recorded by 
Catholic historians, are as follows: — 

“ The Countess Jane Drost Vischering had a painful 
contraction of the left leg, rendering the use of crutches 
necessary, which had existed for many years in spite of 
the best medical aid. She visited the cathedral, knelt 
before the tunic, touched it, and rose and walked off 
without her crutches, entirely free from her disease! 
Her crutches still hang in the cathedral as a testimony 
of her miraculous cure, and of the wonderful efficacy 
of the tunic ! 

“ Matthew Weiler, a peasant, had been sick for two 
years, experiencing the most excruciating pains in the 
whole length of his left leg, which was in consequence 
contracted double. He was carried to the cathedral, 
and, while worshiping the tunic, felt a change in his 
limb, and immediately straightened it, and walked off 
like a grenadier ! About the same time, a daughter of 

ii * 


EUROPA. 


414 

John Schell, a child of twelve years of age, who also 
had a contraction of her limbs, came near the relic, and 
felt instantly her leg stretch out; and she walked away 
without her crutches or any support! 

“ Widow Catharine Petsch had a cerebral affection, 
which deprived her of the use of speech, and of the 
limbs of her right side, so that all sensibility was de¬ 
stroyed. This continued for five months. She also was 
carried in a state of insensibility to the tunic, and in¬ 
stantly, on reaching it, cried, 4 O God ! O Savior! ’ rose, 
completely cured, and left the cathedral without any 
support! 

“Anna Josephine Wagner was cured of epilepsy by 
one single touch. Catharine Drolait, aged twenty-four, 
was cured of the palsy. She was carried to the tunic ; 
and, according to the certified account, when she 
touched it, she cried out, with a loud voice, 4 Good 
God! how that cracks in my knee!’ and fell in a 
swoon, from which she awoke perfectly cured ! Apol- 
lonia Porn, aged nine years, was cured of rickets on 
the 21st of September! A child, who had been blind 
of an eye by falling on a sickle, suddenly recovered the 
sight of the eye which was lost! Susannah Muller was 
cured of articular gout, which, for six months, had not 
permitted her to be an hour out of bed! Pegina Mor- 
scheidt was cured of aphonia. James Heing, who had 
been made dumb by a fever, was restored.” 

It was the blind idolatry of the people who wor¬ 
shiped this old coat, which Arnold had stolen from the 
scanty wardrobe of some poor pauper, which stirred the 
heart of John Konge, one of his priests, who^ like 
Luther, rose up in indignation, and branded the church 
as an impostor, and Arnold as the priest of imposition. 

Were these relics reverenced by the poor, degraded 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 415 

monks alone, we should not charge the church with 
absurdity on their account. But the seamless coat and 
the V irgin’s slipper are shown by the bishops, and the 
exhibition is sanctioned by the authorities at Borne. 
At the very word of the pope himself, thousands fall 
down before the napkin, the cross, and the spear, which 
are preserved in St. Peter’s, and the whole Papal hier¬ 
archy say “Amen.” 

One who was on the ground when the holy coat was 
worshiped, and who was acquainted with all the cir¬ 
cumstances, gives a description of the interest taken in 
this imposition: — 

“ On the 18th of August, the Bishop of Treves per¬ 
formed mass in his pontifical robes, and afterwards 
exhibited the seamless coat. All the parishes in the 
city made a pompous procession. The civil and mili¬ 
tary authorities, the students of college, the school 
children, the mechanics, the tradesmen, all attended. 
In the evening the houses were illuminated. The sol¬ 
diers were led by their officers before the relic, with 
their colors lowered. Three hundred prisoners asked 
leave to visit the holy garment, and they came with 
great gravity and compunction. During the whole 
exhibition, the cathedral was open from five o’clock in 
the morning till eight o’clock at night, and it was con¬ 
stantly filled with an immense crowd. 

“ Pilgrims came from all countries, chiefly from Ger¬ 
many and the eastern frontiers of France. They were 
for the most part peasants, who, with their vicar at 
their head, flocked to this pagan spectacle. The city 
of Treves presented during the exhibition a lively 
scene. In all the streets and public places, processions 
were continually passing. Ordinarily, the pilgrims 
marched two and two, and chanted a monotonous lit- 


416 


EUROPA. 


any. All the hotels were crowded. Extensive wooden 
barracks were erected at the gates of the city, and 
there, for a penny or two a head, the pilgrims found a 
little straw to lie upon. At two o’clock in the morning, 
the noise began again, and continued till a very ad¬ 
vanced hour of the night. Playactors of all sorts 
established themselves at Treves; every day several 
theaters were opened to amuse the strangers. There 
were panoramas, dioramas, menageries, puppet shows — 
all the diversions which are found in France at fairs. 
Every where mirth and revelry abounded, wholly un¬ 
like the composed and pious feelings inspired by the 
performance of a religious duty. 

“ Let us now accompany the pilgrims to the cathedral. 
At the bottom of the nave, on an altar brilliantly light¬ 
ed, is the relic, in a golden box. Steps placed at each 
side lead to it. The pilgrims approach, mount the 
steps, and pass their hand through an oval aperture in 
the box, to touch the coat of the Lord. Two priests, 
seated near the relic, receive the chaplets, medals, hoods, 
and other articles of the faithful, and put them in con¬ 
tact with the marvelous coat, because mere contact is a 
means of blessing. Objects which have thus touched 
the relic are consecrated, sanctified; they then become 
holy chaplets, holy medals, &c.; and after this ceremony 
the pilgrims go away rejoicing, thinking they have ac¬ 
quired the remission of all their sins. It is needless to 
say that this exhibition was distinguished by numerous 
miracles. Has not Rome miracles always at her ser¬ 
vice] Is not her whole history filled with striking 
prodigies ] 

“ This exhibition, of course, brought a great deal of 
money to the priests. This is the true explanation of 
the riddle. It is estimated that the offerings of the 




PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 417 

faithful amounted to five hundred thousand francs (one 
hundred thousand dollars) in the space of six weeks, 
without reckoning the eighty thousand medals of the 
Virgin, which were sold, and the profits from the sale 
of chaplets and other objects of devotion. Even now, 
in all the towns of France, the priests employ persons, 
particularly women, to sell at an exorbitant price a 
thousand petty articles which have touched the holy 
coat! such as ribins, bits of cloth, cotton and silk, 
some of which are shaped like the coat, besides cruci¬ 
fixes and images, in wood or in glass. The clergy have 
monopolized all the old rags of the neighborhood of 
Treves, and sell them for their weight in gold; and 
they find dupes weak enough to purchase these amu¬ 
lets ! The product of this traffic, added to the offerings 
of the pilgrims, will be perhaps from one to two mil¬ 
lions of francs.” 

Another striking characteristic of the Romish church 
is its wretched intolerance. This is not clearly seen in 
America, for here she has but little power, and thus 
far she has secured no hold upon native-born Ameri¬ 
cans. Any display of a persecuting spirit would destroy 
its own purpose, and defeat its own efforts. The priests 
practice their rites and exercise dominion only within 
their own borders. In England, the cloven foot is seen 
a little more distinctly, and the church is more arrogant 
and pretending. In France she takes still greater lib¬ 
erties, and since that monster of wickedness, Louis 
Napoleon, has trampled down the constitution, has es¬ 
tablished herself in her own peculiar way. But to 
know Romanism, one must see Rome; he must travel 
down through Italy, the seat and head-quarters of 
Popery, and learn what this false church is when 
uncontrolled by Protestant influences. He will find, 

53 


418 


EUROPA. 


within the walls of the Eternal City, the press under 
restrictions unknown in any other city in the world, 
the Bible a proscribed book, the rights of conscience 
denied to man, and the whole people in the most ab¬ 
ject slavery. He will find the dark, blood-sprinkled 
cells of the Inquisition, and the dungeons of old 
St. Angelo, full of prisoners confined for conscience’ 
sake; and could he explore the cloisters of the monks 
and the deep places in private edifices, he would doubt¬ 
less find traces of as foul a system of wrong as was 
ever known beneath the sun. The intolerance of the 
Romish church is seen in all her dealings with man¬ 
kind. She has claimed the right* to tread upon the 
neck of princes and kings; she has taught her disciples 
to break faith with heretics; she has refused permission 
for other religions to be taught in her dominions, and 
has at all times displayed a spirit of arrogance and 
oppression. At the present moment, many of her illus¬ 
trious sons are exiles, wandering up and down the earth 
to escape the vengeance of the wily and crafty priest¬ 
hood. A man cannot utter his opinions freely in Rome. 
The fear of chains and imprisonment is ever before 
him; and if, in an unguarded moment, he breaks forth 
in honest abhorrence at the crimes and woes which 
abound, a secret police hunts him out, tracks him to his 
abode, and drags him away, to torture or to death. I 
do not affirm that Pio Nono is wholly an intolerant 
man, or that every cardinal is an ambitious tyrant, or 
that every priest is a crafty villain. Pius is probably a 
kind, well-meaning, but weak and inefficient pontiff. 
His history proves him to be friendly to the minor 
reforms; and could he reign alone, he would doubtless 
do something to relieve the woes of his subjects. Some 
of the cardinals are worthy, generous-minded men, who 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 419 

are wholly averse to oppression; some of the priests 
are honest, worthy, and perhaps I may say pious, striv¬ 
ing to do good. I hope there is many an A Kempis 
and many a Fenelon yet left in Home, who will forsake 
her altars when the cry is heard, “ Come out of her, my 
people. ’ But this pope is the head, and those cardi¬ 
nals and priests rule over an intolerant church. It 
lives by its intolerance; and when its intolerant spirit 
is gone or broken, there will be an end of the church. 
The pope cannot begin to reform without reforming 
himself out of the episcopal office. His throne is built 
on perverted justice and monstrous wrongs, and every 
blow he strikes for progress falls upon himself. I 
would give the pope all the credit which he deserves 
for his good intentions and his good moral character. 
He is not, as were some of his predecessors, addicted to 
vice of all descriptions, from the little petty acts of a 
friar to unblushing adultery and murder; but whoever 
hopes any thing from him for freedom, will hope in 
vain. There was a time when hope was kindled, and 
men turned to Pius as the political regenerator of Italy. 
A company of cosy old gentlemen in our country as¬ 
sembled and voted him a complimentary address, and 
in their enthusiasm dreamed that the long, dark night 
of Popish oppression was ended. But the pope turned 
the cold shoulder upon his new friends, and coolly in¬ 
formed the world, that whoever expected him to do any 
thing to curtail the power of the Romish see would be 
mistaken. From that time, Pio Nono has been rolling 
back the car of reform, doing penance for the few gen¬ 
erous acts with which he commenced his pontificate, 
until he is nearly as much detested by all the patriots 
as was Gregory XVI. What he has not done which a 
tyrant is able and willing to do, no living man can tell 


420 


EUROPA. 


He has condemned the right of private judgment; he 
has uttered his anathemas against Bibles and Bible 
societies; he has bewailed the writing and printing of 
books, and the progress of knowledge; he has declared 
that “ beyond the Catholic church there is no salva¬ 
tion ; ” he has turned over all heretics to plagues of the 
body and torments of the soul; the saints he has shut 
up in prison, and haling men and women, he has put 
them to death. ' What more could a tyrant do than 
Pius IX. has done 1 His friends may urge that he is the 
blind tool of designing men, such as Lambruschini, and 
is forced into oppressive measures by his ambitious and 
intriguing cardinals; but there he is, sitting in the 
place of God, with his iron heel upon the liberty of 
conscience, the freedom of the press, and the Holy 
Scriptures; and the church sustains him. Not a voice 
comes out from the polluted lips of the Mother of 
Abominations in remonstrance. In England, Cardinal 
Wiseman and the apostate Newman defend him; in 
France, the Papal priests and presses declare that the 
holy father is right, and justify even the torture and 
murder of those who oppose his authority; in Ger¬ 
many and Austria, the most oppressive enactments of 
corrupt courts meet with a ready response; while in 
America, Bishop Hughes, at the head of his clergy, 
unblushingly declares that the pope is right in sup¬ 
pressing the Protestant religion in Pome, and that 
Protestants have no right to expect toleration at his 
hands; and Orestes A. Brownson, ready to plunge yet 
deeper than his priest into the pit of intolerance, 
styles the patriots of Italy who forced a constitution, 
such as it was, from the pope, and who were led on by 
such pure men as Mazzini, “the liberals,” “miscreants,” 
“ spawn of hell,” men who are “ doing their best to 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 421 

desolate Europe, and replunge the nations, civilized by 
Christianity, into the darkness of barbarism.” He de¬ 
clares them to be “ deserving of the execration of every 
man who has a human heart under his left breast.” 1 
Those who sympathize with these Italian patriots he 
styles “ stupid dolts, who throw up their greasy caps, 
and cheer them on with loud hurrahs.” He defends the 
Jesuits, that order of monks and priests who are feared 
and hated more justly, by all good men in Europe, 
than are the lazzaroni of the city or the banditti of 
the mountain. He stands up in our midst and ridi¬ 
cules our institutions, which protect him in his very 
abuse of them; he goes abroad and defames our society, 
misrepresents our conditions, and ridicules our laws. 

The Catholic religion would be a most amusing play, 
were it not for its intolerance and persecutions. There 
is so much of it which is perfectly absurd and laugh¬ 
able, that one can scarcely feel serious while speaking 
about it. You have heard of the poor monk who had 
stained himself with fearful crimes, and who went to 
the priest to confess. As he approached the confes¬ 
sional, he said,— 

“ Holy father, I have sinned.” 

The priest bade him kneel before the penitential chair. 
The penitent was looking about, and saw the priest’s 
gold watch lying upon the table, within his reach. 
He seized it, and put it in his bosom. The priest ap¬ 
proached, and requested him to acknowledge the sins 
for which he wished absolution. 

“ Father,” said the penitent, “ I have stolen, and what 
shall I do ? ” 

. “ Restore,” said the priest, “ the thing you have stolen 
to its rightful owner.” 


1 Brownson’s Quarterly Review. 

JJ 


422 


EURQPA. 


“ Do you take it,” said the penitent. 

“ No, I shall not,” said the priest; “ you must give it 
to the owner.” 

“ But,” said the thief, “ he has refused to take it.” 

“ If this be the case, you may keep it,” said the 
priest; and he absolved him from all his sins, and gave 
him the blessing; and the penitent went out with a 
clear conscience in his bosom, and the priests watch in 
his pocket. 

We are told an amusing story of a case of Popish 
juggling in Ireland, in which the church was com¬ 
pletely outwitted. A man died, and his widow was 
told by her priest that his soul was in purgatory, and 
could be released only upon the saying of a number of 
masses, which he would do only on condition that she 
would give him her cow, which was almost all her liv¬ 
ing. For a long time she hesitated between duty to 
her children and the desire to release her husband from 
the flames of purgatory. At length, her love for her 
departed companion prevailed, and she ordered her two 
bright little boys to drive the cow to the house of the 
priest. As they drove her along, weeping over the 
sacrifice they were about to make, for they were poor, 
the priest tried to encourage them. 

“ Well done; you are good boys; drive cheerily, for 
your father’s soul is out of hell, and the devil can never 
get him back again.” 

“ Do you hear that, Jim \ ” said the older boy to his 
brother; “ the priest says father is safe out of purga¬ 
tory, and the devil can never get him back again; run 
along and head the cow, and drive her back, for alibis? 
right now.” 

Quickly the cow was wheeled about, amid the curses 
of the priest, and the boys drove her home again, to 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 423 

the great delight of the mother, who, through the wit 
of her children, had delivered her husband from tor¬ 
ment, and saved her property. 

From the short stay which I made in Italy, and from 
the most authentic accounts, given both by Protestants 
and Romanists, of the condition of that country, I can¬ 
not but believe that the church has a weak hold upon 
the minds of thousands, who would cast away the chains 
which are on them, did an opportunity occur. Light is 
streaming over the dark walls of Rome, and illuminat¬ 
ing the habitations of the people. The masses of the 
nation are ignorant, bigoted, and superstitious, and yet 
are open to conviction, to a greater extent than Papists 
in our land. Could light penetrate, they would hail it; 
could a fire be kindled, they would feel its warmth. 

That Rome is ready to give up the Catholic religion, 
none would affirm; and yet a single newspaper, well con¬ 
ducted, a single Protestant church, with a pious preacher, 
a single missionary distributing tracts and Bibles from 
house to house, would, in five years, produce a change 
which would make the throne of Pius IX. tremble, and 
astonish the whole Christian world. I know of no spot 
in the world so favorable for the conversion of Roman¬ 
ists as Rome itself. 

The church of Rome has not changed; she is the 
same now as she was in other days, when, at her behest, 
blood flowed in torrents. She is less open, more Jesuit¬ 
ical now than formerly, because she has less power over 
kings and emperors. But her bloody spirit remains the 
same. Not one of her acts of persecution has she dis¬ 
avowed ; but, up to this hour, every scene of crime 
committed under her sanctity she has defended. When 
it was announced in Rome that the streets of France 
were deluged with Protestant blood, that wicked city 


424 


EUROPA. 


echoed with joy at the dreadful intelligence that the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day had taken place. 
So strongly did the church — O, shame! — commend 
this scene of crime, that a coin was struck, on one 
side of which was the figure of an angel, with a cross 
in his hand, and a sword, the emblem of persecution. 
Besides this, there are men, and women, and children 
wounded, weltering in blood, and all the dreadful ap¬ 
pendages to this scene of w T o, while over the whole is the 
inscription, “ Strages Huguenotorum ,” ( The slaughter 
of the Huguenots.) On the other side is the name of 
the pope who linked his title with the crimes of that 
terrible night — “ Gregorius X.III, Pontifex Maximus .” 

How, since then, has the church of Borne changed \ 
Let us see. When the news of the famous coup d'etat 
reached the Eternal City, and it was known that Louis 
Napoleon had broken down the constitution and the 
laws, that blood was flowing in torrents, that the Cath¬ 
olic church was laying her beams wider in the blood of 
men, — intelligence at which all the world but Borne 
recoiled, — that city was illuminated, Pius IX. said 
high mass, and a jubilee was held throughout the Papal 
dominion — the jubilee of hell, whose echo was caught 
up and rolled along our shores, and thundered forth in 
triumph from every church on which is seen the dead 
crucifix of Bomanism. And if the work had been more 
complete, — if M. Coquerel and Adolph Monod had 
met the fate of Coligny, we might have had a new 
coin, with its terrible inscription, “ Strages Huguenoto- 
rum and on the'reverse, the portrait of Mastai Fe- 
retti, with his leaden look, and under it, or over it, his 
assumed title, Pius IX. 

In this country, if we charge the church with intol¬ 
erance, and cruelty, and absurdity, we are accused of 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 425 

falsehood; but in Rome, a faithful minister could point 
to the Inquisition, and say, “ There, in that edifice, are 
the evidences that your religion is not of God ; there are 
the proofs of its hatred and revenge; there is the stu¬ 
pendous monument of its shame and crime.” And not 
a man would dare say, “ It is not true.” He could 
point to the shameful lives of the popes; the unblush¬ 
ing licentiousness of the priesthood; the ignorant du¬ 
plicity of monastic life; and say, “ These are not of 
God; the religion which supports them is not of God.” 
None could reply. These sober facts no sophistry can 
elude; and could they be shown up, and discussed by 
the people of Rome, who already know them, they 
would hurl the throne of St. Peter over into the Tiber. 1 
And the day is coming. The eyes are already open 
which will see it. The present pope is not secure. 
Once he has been driven from the Vatican ; and to-day 
is sustained in Rome by the bayonets of foreign armies. 

The usurpation of Louis Napoleon, the “ prince pres¬ 
ident,” as he calls himself, has darkened the prospect 


1 A work, called Taxa Camarae 
Apostolic®, was some years ago 
published in Rome, and republished 
in Paris, Venice, Lyons, and several 
other Papal cities, in which were the 
fines demanded by the priests for ab¬ 
solution from various crimes. The 
work was published by authority of 
Pope Innocent III. The following 
is a specimen: — 

For a layman for murdering £. s. d. 

a layman, .... 0 7 6 

“ him that hath killed his 

father,.0 10 G 

“ him that hath killed his 

mother,.0 10 6 

“ him that hath killed his 

wife,.0 10 6 

“ a priest or clergyman 

that keeps a concu¬ 
bine, .0 10 6 

54 


For him who, in a criminal 

cause, takes a false £. s. d. 

oath,.0 9 0 

“ a man or woman that is 
found hanged, that 
they may have Chris¬ 
tian burial, ... 1 7 6 
“ a man to change his vow, 0 15 0 
To eat flesh and white meats 
in Lent and other 
fasting days, . . . 0 10 6 

To go into a nunnery alone, 0 18 0 
For the remission of a third 

part of one’s sins, . 7 10 0 
How easily could a pious man 
show that such a system is an abom¬ 
inable outrage! Here it is a greater 
sin to eat flesh during Lent than to 
commit murder; to go into a nunnery 
alone than to commit adultery. O, 
shame! 

JJ* 




426 


EUROPA, 


of an immediate change, and strengthened the hands 
of the pope; but the “ glorious time is rolling on,” and 
the day cannot be far distant when the predictions of 
Scripture, with reference to the false church, must be 
realized. Her recent usurpations have weakened her 
cause in England, and opened the eyes of the people to 
her intolerant and aggressive spirit. Her triumphs in 
France will only give new power to the preaching of 
Protestants. While Adolph and Frederick Monod are 
allowed to preach in Paris, the night will not be very 
dark. In America, her converts are almost entirely 
from the ranks of the ignorant paupers who are being 
emptied upon our shores from the almshouses of Europe. 
I found, while in England and in France, that an idea 
existed that conversions were being made in intelligent 
families, and among men of office and honor, who are 
native-born Americans; but this is not a fact, as the sta¬ 
tistics of Popery will show. Our country is, indeed, 
filling up with Catholics from foreign countries ; but if 
I do not mistake, the American branch of the church 
will yet prove a most troublesome child for his ghostly 
eminence at Pome to manage. The Christian need not 
despair; God’s hand is seen, and God’s name is heard, 
in the changes and convulsions which are abroad among 
the nations; and if any great gain is made by his sov¬ 
ereign holiness, it will not correspond with the move¬ 
ments of the church of Pome for the last half cen¬ 
tury, which have been almost entirely backward. I 
cannot close these observations more appropriately than 
in the words of Hon. and Pev. Baptist W. Noel, ad¬ 
dressed to a Papal missionary now in England: — 

“ One thing I will predict, from the signs which are 
multiplying around us : You may endeavor to warp 
the minds of your partisans from infancy; you may 


PIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 


427 


exercise the influence of the confessional to prevent the 
study of the Bible; you may impoverish the education 
of those within your power; you may compress and 
chain down the minds of thousands and of myriads; 
but you will yet see such an insurrection of the Cath¬ 
olic masses of Europe against your priestly sway, that 
while you are arguing about 4 the rock,’ you will find 
your sandy foundations giving way; and while you are 
proving your possession of the 4 keys,’ your prisoners, 
despite of keys and bolts, will burst from your thrall- 
dom forever.” 


428 


EUROPA. 


XXXII. 

FLORENCE. 

The hour came for me to leave mighty Rome, and all 
its scenes of glory and shame. I did not regret it; for 
that renowned city contains so many objects of disgrace 
and wo, so much over which a philanthropist can but 
weep, that I turned from its museums and galleries of 
art, with no prospect of ever beholding them again, with¬ 
out any feeling of sorrow. There is little in Rome con¬ 
genial with my feelings; and I was glad to be gone. 
The palaces of the Csesars and the tombs of the Scipios 
are there, indeed; but what of that! Like Egypt, when 
the ten plagues were visiting the city of the Nile, Rome 
swarms with filth, fleas, fevers, and pestilence; and 
where once captive princes walked in chains of gold, 
and emperors rode along in victorious state, hungry 

cardinals and a besotted priesthood roam; and on the 

0 

throne once filled by proud Caesar sits a weak, imbe¬ 
cile old man, with a paper cap upon his head, receiv¬ 
ing the adoration of a superstitious and ignorant people. 
I could look upon the pomp and aristocracy of the 
English nobility with some pleasure, for there seems a 
stately elegance in it; I could gaze upon the gay and 
voluptuous pleasures of Paris with some allowance, for 
nature has her will in Paris, and, like a goddess, sweeps 
along, receiving the homage of a blinded multitude ; but 
with the hollow rites and foolish mockery of Rome my 
soul could have no fellowship. It was neither natural, 


FLORENCE. 


429 


grand, dignified, manly, or pleasing. The pomp of Rome 
is an insult to God and a disgrace to man, and utterly 
unworthy of rational beings. The mass of the people 
are blinded and in ignorance; but the higher ecclesias¬ 
tics must be aware of the infamous fraud which they are 
practicing upon the multitude. Their religion is a cheat, 
and no man in his sober senses can deny it; and the 
priests must be aware that they are arrant impostors. 
Joe Smith, with his Book of Mormon, never perpetrated 
a greater deception than this same religion of Rome 
shows itself to be; and one feels relieved to be away 
from the dominion of the pope, out of sight of the car¬ 
dinal’s red hat, the chapeau of the lazy priests, and the 
dirty rig of the shaven-headed friars. 

From Rome to Civita Vecchia by diligence, from 
thence to Leghorn by steamer, and from thence to Flor¬ 
ence by railway, we hurried, arriving at the latter place 
on the 25 th of June. Florence, or Firenze , as the Ital¬ 
ians call it, is a city of about one hundred thousand 
inhabitants, lying on both sides of the “ smiling Arno,” 
and is one of the most gay and delightful places in 
Italy. It is the capital of Tuscany; and though, with 
the decline of Italy, it has lost much of its former glory, 
is yet full of life and gladness. Almost every day some 
frolick is carried on, or some saint celebrated, to the 
great amusement of strangers. We arrived on what we 
were told was San Victoria’s day, and the whole peo¬ 
ple seemed to be out in masses. The day was observed 
with many civil and religious demonstrations, and ended 
in a horse race. Three horses were painted and lettered, 
and let loose in the public streets. The people crowded 
the sides of the thoroughfares and windows all along the 
race course by thousands, military men were parading 
up and down, and for some two hours we gazed from 


430 


EUROPA. 


the window of the hotel upon an array of beauty, fash¬ 
ion, pride, pomp, and vanity, such as I had never seen 
before. The houses all along were waving with drapery, 
which was suspended from the windows, and every thing 
gave evidence that some gay event was about to trans¬ 
pire. Well, when we had waited, stretched our necks, 
wondered at the pomp of the grand duke, and been 
amused at the hundred little pleasantries, a cry an¬ 
nounced the approach of the horses, and soon they 
came leaping by, the little creatures all spotted with 
paint, like the cheeks of some of our fair ladies, and in 
a moment were out of sight. This was all — the show 
was over, and the people began to disperse. We could 
see nothing pretty, funny, or interesting in the race of 
these three horses, which, from our window, looked very 
much like large wharf rats leaping by, and sending their 
heels into the faces of the crowds of people who lined 
the streets on both sides. The whole show reminded 
us of the exhibition of “ three blind mice.” 

This race is the result of the folly of a man who 
died, leaving a sum of money, the income of which 
would be about three hundred dollars annually, which 
was to be appropriated to this purpose. Thus the peo¬ 
ple have a show day, the horses are run to death, sev¬ 
eral persons are kicked down and injured, to carry out 
the last will and testament of the Florentine Dives. 

Florence, according to its name, is a city of flowers, 
and the flower girls meet you in every street; especially 
on the morning of the Sabbath are they out by hun¬ 
dreds, with their white arms and necks shaded by the 
wide hat, which gives a grace and beauty to the person 
which cannot be derived from the little, awkward, un¬ 
comely bonnet, resting so far back on the head that a 
paper of pins seems almost necessary to keep it on. 


FLORENCE. 


431 


These flower girls are modest and pretty. They do not 
often try to sell you flowers, but force them into your 
hand, and turn away as if they were indifferent about 
the pay. Frequently they dart away before you can 
draw out your purse, and in a half hour will meet you 
again, and thrust another bouquet into your hand, or 
twine a sweet rose or blushing pink in the button-hole 
of your coat, and are off before you can say, 44 Thank 
you.” As you ride along, shower after shower of roses 
will fall into your carriage, thrown by a graceful hand, 
with a most interesting smile. 

The objects of interest in Florence are the cathedral, 
the baptistry, similar to that of Pisa, and the bell tower; 
the Pitti Palace, with its museums and galleries of art; 
the Boboli Gardens, with their rich foliage and shady 
walks; the convents and churches, rich with works 
of art; and a large number of public and private edi¬ 
fices, which wealth has adorned and beautified. The 
cathedral is an odd-looking structure, with a fine dome, 
from which Michael Angelo modeled that of St.. Peter’s, 
in Pome. The dome was the work of Brunelleschi, and 
is a wonder, which will make his name noted as long as 
it continues to stand. It is built in alternate layers of 
black and white stone, and presents a unique appearance. 

The palace of the grand duke is a very fine structure. 
It was built by Luca Pitti, who, by a series of misfor¬ 
tunes, became involved in ruin and disgrace. The gal¬ 
leries are filled with the finest paintings, in which are 
treasured up the works of the old masters. Miles on 
miles of paintings, and seas on seas of fine carving and 
chisel work, are to be found. Here are the evidences 
of the genius of Titian, Raphael, Pubens, Bartolom¬ 
meo, Michael Angelo, and a host of the old masters 
who have now fallen asleep. 


432 


EUROPA. 


Nothing interested me more, while in this delightful 
city, than the visits which I made to the studios of sev¬ 
eral of the prominent artists of the place; among oth¬ 
ers, that of Pampaloni, the author of the Kneeling Sam¬ 
uel, copies of which in plaster are so common. The 
elder Pampaloni is dead; but his son, inheriting his 
genius, still continues to give life to dead marble, chan¬ 
ging deformity to order and beauty. Several exquisite 
statues on which the artist was engaged were shown us. 
One of great excellence as a work of art, to which the 
finishing stroke was just being given, was Magdalene 
in the Wilderness; but who knows what that means \ 
A woman reclining on her side, her arm upon a mossy 
stone, a rude cross beside her, and her hand resting on 
a skull. The lifelike countenance, the exquisite finish 
of the limbs, and the gentle look of piety depicted on 
the features, render the work one of great interest. 

Leaving Pampaloni’s, we repaired to the studio of 
our countryman, Hiram Powers, who stands in the 
front rank in his profession. Here, in this little room, 
were the Greek Slave, and Eve, modeled and finished. 
The American feels at home on entering; for besides 
the frank, open, cordial salutation which he receives 
from the artist, he sees the busts of various distin¬ 
guished men whose names are indissolubly associated 
with the history of our own country. Mr. Powers is 
now engaged upon a work which he designs shall rep¬ 
resent the Genius of America. It is a female figure, 
with a loose, flowing sash thrown about her person, a 
serene and placid countenance, one hand lifted, and the 
fingers pointing to heaven, as if appealing to the Most 
High, as our great sovereign and helper, the other hand 
placed upon a bundle of rods, representing the states 
of our confederacy, and the feet standing on the broken 





























FLOKENCE. 


433 


emblems of tyranny and oppression. The upper part 
of the figure was completed, and we asked Powers where 
the emblems of oppression were, that he was to have 
beneath the feet of the Genius. “ O,” said he, “ we 
never represent Liberty treading on Tyranny until the 
statue is ready to leave Florence, lest Tyranny should 
attempt to forestall the matter and tread on Liberty.” 
Mr. Powers has a family of young Italians growing up 
around him, but he assured us that he could not forget 
his native land. One son he has recently sent to West 
Point, to receive a military education. 

From Powers’s we went to see Greenough, who was 
absent from the city at the time. He also is an Ameri¬ 
can, and stands high in Florence as an artist. He is 
now engaged on a great work for some of the public 
buildings at Washington. The group consists of an 
Indian, a hunter, a woman with a child in her arms, 
and a dog. The Indian, naked and fiendlike, has his 
rough hand in the long, flowing hair of the woman, 
drawing back her head, with tomahawk upraised, ready 
to strike the fatal blow. The wretch has one knee upon 
the ground ; the woman has her babe in her arms, and 
her whole countenance is wild and despairing. When 
the blow is ready to fall, the hunter, the husband of the 
woman, the father of the child, arrives, and seizes the 
upraised hand of the savage. The gun of the hunter is 
on the ground; his dog, fierce and bristling, stands 
barking by. The nude figure of the Indian, the rude 
yet neat dress of the backwoodsman, the shrinking 
woman expecting death, yet striving to cover her child, 
form a striking group, well worthy the fame of our 
countryman, and a befitting monument for the halls of 
the nation. One of the workmen told us the group was 

55 kk 


434 


EUROPA. 


for “the palace of the President of America.” Well, 
that is near enough! 

All the churches of Florence are interesting, and are 
distinguished for something peculiar and unique; but 
only one or two of them deserve our notice at this time. 
The Church of Santa Croce, erected six hundred years 
ago, is to Florence w’hat Westminster Abbey is to Lon¬ 
don — the charnel of its illustrious dead. The first and 
most conspicuous monuments which the stranger sees on 
entering this edifice, is the grand sarcophagus of Michael 
Angelo, the world’s great artist. The sister arts, Paint¬ 
ing, Sculpture, and Architecture, are weeping over the 
tomb, while surmounting them is a statue of the great 
man himself. The spot where he sleeps was selected, 
and the manner of his burial was described, by the artist 
himself, who wished his resting-place to be within sight 
of the cathedral, on whose spacious dome he loved to 
gaze in life. Michael Angelo was a remarkable man, 
and evidences of his skill are seen all over Florence — 
in one place his paintings, in another his statues, and 
in another the work on which he was engaged at the 
time of his death. He was a man of rare abilities and 
remarkable genius. He was manly, bold, and inde¬ 
pendent. He stood before popes and kings without 
fear, and his name has descended to our times as one 
of the few men whom wealth, fame, and honor could 
not corrupt, and whom bribery and policy could not 
seduce. There is told of him an amusing and striking 
incident, which will illustrate his character. It is 
known that he frescoed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, 
which to this day is a wonder. The circumstances 
under which it was done are thus related: — 

“ The surpassing superiority of Michael Angelo, while 
it secured the patronage of princes and popes, awakened 


FLORENCE. 


435 


the envy and hatred of artists. Pope Julius II. deter¬ 
mined to monopolize his labors. His enemies suggested 
to the pope that he was as excellent a painter as a 
sculptor. This stroke of policy told. 

“ After having walked for some time, Julius led the 
artist into the Sistine Chapel, and raising his hand to¬ 
wards the vault, said, 4 Since my uncle’s death, this beau¬ 
tiful building has remained unfinished. I wish it to be 
said, Julius II. has completed what Sixtus IV. began. 
Behold your appointed work; you shall be at once the 
architect, the painter, and the decorator. Fill this 
immense vault with frescoes and innumerable figures. 
I will that the world shall know that Michael Angelo 
is inimitable, not only as a sculptor, but as a painter.’ 

“ For a moment the artist stood silent with amaze¬ 
ment ; then he said, — 

44 4 Your holiness mocks your servant.’ 

44 4 What mean you, Master Buonarotti ] ’ 

44 4 My business is to wield the chisel and the mallet. 
I know little of painting, and nothing of the mechanical 
part of fresco work. How, then, can I suddenly, at my 
age, change my career ? But your holiness cannot be 
in earnest.’ 

44 4 1 have said I will it; it is thine to obey.’ 

44 4 And I tell your holiness that this idea never came 
from yourself. It is an infamous snare laid for me by 
my enemies. If I accept, I shall certainly fail. Well, 
I prefer enduring the anger of your holiness to incurring 
certain shame. I shall instantly return to Florence.’ 

44 4 We’ll take good care ! ’ cried Julius; and he retired 
abruptly, leaving the artist a prey to his mute despair. 
The thoughts that passed through the sculptor’s mind, 
during that long, lonely night, have remained unspoken. 
But let us imagine him whose mind was teeming with 


436 


EUROPA. 


vast projects, who needed but to strike the rock, and 
glorious creations would start forth, turned suddenly 
back in his career, commanded to forget his people of 
stone, and to evoke in their place a nation of colored 
shadows ; to pass from the summit of one art to the base 
of another; and this to be accomplished in an hour. 
Truly, it was a fierce struggle, and a strange triumph 
wrought by the indomitable human will. 

“ On the morrow, Julius found Michael Angelo on 
the spot where he had left him; his arms were folded 
on his breast, his head bent in profound meditation; his 
cheeks were pale, and his eyes bloodshot, but the fire of 
genius beamed on his brow. 

“ 4 Well 1 ’ said the pope. 

44 4 1 submit to your wishes.’ 

“ c I am sure of it. Believe me, your enemies, in 
seeking to injure you, have prepared for you a new 
triumph.’ 

444 Let Bramante come immediately to construct the 
scaffolding.’ 

44 This man had been foremost in the attack; and 
now, caught in his own snare, the envious architect 
thought at least to procure a share of the work for his 
nephew, Baphael. But Julius w r as inexorable, and 
dryly ordered Bramante to prepare the necessary planks 
and cordage. 

44 Meantime, Michael Angelo went to the Sistine, and, 
for the first time addressing himself to Bramante, said, 
in the presence ot the pope, and in a tone of insulting 
irony, 4 In what manner do you propose, Master Archi¬ 
tect, to raise this scaffold 1 ’ 

44 4 In the usual manner,’ replied Bramante, scorn¬ 
fully. 

44 4 That is to say-’ 



FLORENCE. 


437 


“ 4 That is to say, master, since yon seem ignorant of 
the first principles of the art you profess, that I will 
make holes in the vault; that from these openings cap¬ 
stans will descend, and sustain the marble platform on 
which you will work.’ 

“ 4 Very clear, indeed, Master Bramante. But permit 
me to ask you one question: When my paintings shall 
be finished, how will you stop these holes 1 ’ 

44 4 O, time enough to think of that.’ 

44 Michael Angelo shrugged his shoulders, and having 
called the head carpenter, said to him in a loud voice, 
4 Take all this trumpery away; sell it, and keep the 
proceeds for your own use.’ He then explained to the 
astonished pope the method which he meant to employ, 
and which has been ever since adopted under similar 
circumstances. 

44 The next day he sent to Florence for several paint¬ 
ers accustomed to fresco work. He caused them to 
ascend the scaffold, gave each a portion of the wall to 
paint, and watched their proceedings closely. A few 
hours sufficed to make him acquainted with the me¬ 
chanical portion of the art. He paid them liberally, 
and dismissed them ; then he effaced all that they had 
done, and shut himself up alone. 

44 Without any assistance he tempered the lime, mixed 
the plaster, and ground his colors. Often a few drops 
more or less than the right quantity of water, a co^t laid 
on too thinly or too thickly, in fact, the smallest over¬ 
sight, used to cause his nearly-finished frescoes to fall 
off in patches. But genius mocks at difficulties, both 
great and small. After a time, colors and plaster 
obeyed their ruler, as marble and bronze had done be¬ 
fore. The mechanical obstacles removed, it only re¬ 
mained for him to execute his sublime conceptions. 

KK* 


438 


EUROPA. 


“ It was the spirit of Dante incarnate under another 
form, and breathed forth in painting instead of in song. 
Both have embraced in their compositions the whole 
range of creation, the order and events of time, from the 
fall of the angels to the last judgment. It would be as 
impossible to convey an idea of the glories of the Sistine 
vault to those who have not seen them, as to describe 
those of Dante’s wondrous epic to such as have not felt 
them. It would be speaking of music to the deaf, and 
of colors to the blind. MicliaeLAngelo employed but 
twenty months in his stupendous work. On the day 
when he finally came down from the scaffolding, his 
eyes had been so accustomed to looking upward, that 
he could no longer without pain turn them towards the 
earth — a touching symbol of genius obliged to look 
downward and walk with men, after having soared amid 
the regions of the sky.” 

Next we come to the monument of Dante, author of 
Divina Commedia , the greatest poem of the age ; a man 
who died of a broken heart, unappreciated by his con¬ 
temporaries. Beyond is that of Alfieri, the greatest 
tragic poet in Italy, a man of wonderful genius; pas¬ 
sionate, haughty, imperious, but great. The names of 
great men are read on every side, and the enduring 
marble tells where sleeps their dust. The monument 
of Galileo, with the statues of Astronomy and Geometry, 
and the statue of the great man himself, form a group 
which leads you to Wonder that human wisdom and 
skill should die so soon. 

*S* 4 s.- • • t • • r 

Leaving Santa Croce, we may wander about among 
other churches, finding in the corner of one a wax 
figure of Christ in a glass case. The figure was spotted 
with blood, crowned with thorns, and well calculated to 
awaken disgust. This figure was covered all over with 


FLORENCE. 


439 


votive offerings, in the shape of watches, rings, and other 
jewelry. I counted seven watches of considerable value 
hanging up there. The priests are careful not to let 
these things become too burdensome to the figure. 

In another church 1 is a Madonna, said to have been 
painted by St. Luke, who, according to these folks, 
must have been a wonderful artist. In another 2 you 
will find paintings of a great variety of persons and 
scenes, some painted by one apostle and some by 
another, some by one saint and some by another, until 
you feel disgusted with the conversion of the house of 
God into a gallery of paintings and curiosities. One 
Sabbath day we went into one of these churches, 3 which 
was filled with an aristocratic audience. A whole regi¬ 
ment of priests were at work at the altar, bowing and 
bending, rising and falling, to the edification of the 
people, who gazed on with a sort of stupid wonder. 
Seeing others walking about, we did the same, and at 
length found our way to the altar, and behind it, where 
about sixty men were making most delightful music. 
Instruments of various kinds and fine voices blended 
together in one delightful strain of harmony. I have 
seldom heard such delicious music. There was in it 
something grand and awful, as the holy anthems, sung 
by such a host of professional singers, echoed amid the 
pillars and arches of the old church. The choir in Ital¬ 
ian churches is generally concealed, and so constructed 
are the churches that the stranger can hardly tell from 
whence the strains proceed. The effect of the singing 
is thus hightened, and rendered more mysterious and 
enchanting. We know but little about good singing in 
the churches of America. The soft, warbling, melting 


1 Santissima Annunziato, 


2 Santo Spirito. 3 Santa Maria Novella. 


440 


EUROPA. 


Italian voice produces strains such as never roll from 
the lips of the Anglo-Saxon. 

The devout appearance of the people in church is 
contradicted by the eagerness with which they rush to 
the scenes of amusement with which the sacred day 
closes. On the Sabbath before I left Florence, the 
afternoon was given to as gay and brilliant parade as I 
ever saw on festive days in our own country. Splendid 
companies of military men marched up and down the 
streets; banners floated from the windows; civic pro¬ 
cessions moved through the streets; and over the 
people, who, in the morning, were bending before the 
altar, came swelling the intoxicating melody of pleas¬ 
ure and sin. 

The Catholic church here appears as odious as in 
Rome. The Grand Duke of Tuscany hates the Bible 
as much as does his master, the pope, who has made the 
bringing of one into Rome penal crime, for which four 
years of galley labor are necessary as an expiation. At 
the present time, arrests are being made almost every 
day in Florence, and no Italian is free to believe or to 
worship according to his own conscience. Information 
is generally received through the agency of the confes¬ 
sional, that perverted agent of a corrupt church. The 
wife reveals the fact that her husband has a Bible, or 
the mother states that her son has a prohibited book, 
or the daughter confesses that her father is a heretic, 
and soon the offender is secured, and, often without 
proof, hurried into banishment, or to a vile and loath¬ 
some dungeon. There is no crime in Italy greater than 
heresy; murder has less of guilt than Bible reading; 
and one had better become a beggar or a bandit than a 
Protestant. I see that the pope has expressed his desire 
to send a stone from the Temple of Peace, with an 


FLORENCE. 


441 


inscription, “Rome to America,” to be placed in the 
Wasliington Monument. Such an insult to the mem¬ 
ory of the great man could hardly be offered as the 
reception of such a stone. The pope will not allow the 
countrymen of Washington to meet for worship in 
Rome; he will not allow them to build a chapel ten 
feet square in his city; he will not allow them to bring 
an Italian Bible into the place; and his only aim now 
is to subvert and destroy the light which emanates from 
the American republic. Would a stone from Benedict 
Arnold, were he now living, be received, or would it be 
sent back, with an indignant reply] The greatest foe 
to human freedom in the world is the Pope of Rome; 
he is the sworn enemy of all the dearest rights of man; 
an American citizen is yet lingering in his dungeon, 
and yet he sends a stone to adorn the monument of 
patriotism. 

But to return to Florence. The city is now swarm¬ 
ing with Austrian soldiers, sent here by Prince Metter- 
nich, to sustain the grand duke in opposition to the 
wishes of his own people. The masses hate the sol¬ 
diers, and gnash upon them with their teeth. They 
feel indignant that the duke should allow himself to 
be sustained by these hirelings of a foreign government. 
One day, while leaving the grand duke’s palace, we 
found a regiment of these Austrian soldiers marching 
by. We asked of our guide, a well-informed, sensible 
man, “ What are all these soldiers doing in Florence ] ” 
He replied, “ I do not know; I wish the devil would 
take them away, for he sent them here.” This expres¬ 
sion, reported at the palace, might have cost the fellow 
his head; yet, knowing well his company, he went on 
with a low, deep, bitter strain of denunciation against 
the oppressive enactments of the government. But the 

56 


442 


EUROPA 


soldiers are as much to be pitied as the people. They 
are quartered in convents and private residences, and 
are cursed by the whole population. They live in the 
midst of maledictions, and die with none to mourn. I 
saw one fall in the street, one day; he was borne into 
the hotel apparently lifeless, while his companions 
seemed to care little about him. One day, while sit¬ 
ting at our windows, in the midst of a terrific thunder 
storm, we saw a military funeral passing by. The 
heavens were in commotion. The angry clouds seemed 
in valiant conflict with each other. Thunder rolled 
over our heads with startling effect. The sharp light¬ 
nings flashed with forked and serpentine motions 
through the regions of space. Every human being 
fled for shelter to some kindly refuge. In the midst 
of this storm, a low and solemn Avail fell on the ear, 
and then a louder blast of trumpet, bugle, and the 
more discordant drum. On looking out, we saw ad¬ 
vancing a funeral procession. First came a soldier 
bearing a white cross, which was tastefully trimmed 
with black crape; next, a detachment of soldiers, with 
arms reversed, marching in sad and solemn order; next, 
a fine band, which ever and anon sent the strains of the 
melancholy death dirge along the deserted streets, mak¬ 
ing sad yet exquisite harmony; next, a priest in white 
robes, trimmed with gold; then the corpse, borne upon 
the shoulders of four men, covered with crape, on 
which were laid the military cap, plume, and sword of 
the departed, and a wreath of fresh roses; on each 
side were the pall bearers with lighted candles, while 
behind followed a detachment of soldiers. Poor fel¬ 
low! Far from the land of his birth — for he was a 
Swiss—he was buried; far from that good mother; far 
from the kind father who loved him in childhood; far 


ELOKENCE. 


443 


from the wife to whom he gave his early affections; far 
from the child who has often wept for him in vain. 
Poor fellow! Why did he not remain at home, culti¬ 
vating the field, and not come here to die ? 

But we will leave Florence, however much we might 
wish to dwell upon its beauties and pleasures. We 
leave the city of Dante and Petrarch, the smiling Arno, 
the region of Italian poetry, the studios of the artists, 
and gay, delightful Florence itself, the city of flowers, 
as its name signifies, and pursue our way north, leaving 
behind us the gay scenes, in the midst of which we 
have spent a few delightful days. As we proceed, we 
go still farther from monkery and priestcraft, in pro¬ 
portion as we leave the Eternal City. We get some 
little out of the region of relics and rites; away from 
monks who will work any miracle for a franc, or for 
two scudi show you a bit of the true cross, the seam¬ 
less coat, or, what is more ethereal, — 

“ A ray, imprimis, of the star that shone 
To the wise men ; a phial full of sounds, 

The musical chimes of the great bell that hung 
In Solomon’s Temple ; and though last, not least, 

A feather from the angel Gabriel’s wing, 

Dropped in the Virgin’s chamber.” 


O, when will man look up to God, and appeal away 
from the miserable falsehood of a corrupt hierarchy, to 
the Truth and the Life, and cast down, in derision and 
holy zeal, the altars of this sanctified paganism, which 
has set up its empire in the yery shadow of God’s 
throne 1 


444 


EUROPA. 


XXXIII. 

BOLOGNA AND FERRARA. 

We left Florence, in the diligence, one evening about 
dusk. As this vehicle was a fair specimen of the whole 
diligence tribe, I will describe it. We had four horses, 
as lean and lank as Pharaoh’s lean kine, and as hun¬ 
gry, too. The harness was partly of leather, but 
mostly of rope, rotten as twine, and as clumsy as a 
bed cord. The diligence itself is a long, cumbersome 
vehicle, like an omnibus, and would not be tolerated in 
Yankeeland a half hour. It is divided into different 
compartments. The cabriolet is an open sort of a 
chaise on top; the coupe is the forward apartment, 
will hold four or five persons, and is considered as the 
best place for observation and ease; the interno, or 
interior, is an apartment with two seats opposite, like 
those in a coach, and is in the middle ; while below is 
the rotunda, with two seats opposite, on the sides, like 
those of an omnibus. These seats will hold two, three, 
or four persons, according to the size of the vehicle. 
The baggage is put upon the top of the crazy carriage, 
and is liable every moment to fall through on to your 
head. The horses are changed every eight or ten 
miles, and the postilions leave with the horses. When 
they leave, they come to the windows of the carriage 
and demand something for drink, and if you refuse, 
will curse and swear prodigiously. It generally takes 
three men, sometimes only two, to get the diligence 


BOLOGNA AND FERRARA. 


445 


along. One is the postilion, one a sort of a driver, and 
the third a conductor. The whole arrangement is cum¬ 
brous and awkward, and traveling by it is slow and 
tedious. 

In such a contrivance we rode out of Florence, on St. 
Peter’s day, when the boys were playing with powder, 
and the men were illuminating their houses, in honor 
of the great apostle. We rode all night, getting what 
sleep we could, and arrived at Bologna, the city of sau¬ 
sages, the next afternoon. On our way we were sub¬ 
jected to many inconveniences. If we borrowed an old 
iron pan to drink from, we were expected to pay for it, 
and we neither ate or drank without a fee, and were 
haunted by beggars without number. This is, beyond 
all account, the greatest country in the world to dupe 
travelers. Two thirds of the people seem to live on 
others, and the other third get a living I know not how. 
I was agreeably disappointed in Bologna, it being a 
much finer city than I supposed. It numbers about 
seventy thousand inhabitants, and is the second city in 
the dominions of the pope. Having washed off the dust 
of travel, secured a good dinner, and beginning to look 
a little more like human beings, we went out to see the 
objects of interest. We found our way to the Academy 
of Fine Arts, where we saw paintings of much merit—so 
artists say; the Martyrdom of St. Agnes, by Domeni- 
chino ; the Massacre of the Innocents, by Guido; the 
Santa Cicilia, by Raphael; and many others. The ca¬ 
thedral at Bologna is a vast unfinished pile, the original 
plan of which would have made it one hundred feet 
longer than St. Peter’s at Rome. Here, in the Church 
of San Dominicho, is the tomb of St. Dominic, the 
founder of the base and bloody Inquisition, for which 

LL 


446 


EUROPA. 


the world curses his memory; also the tomb of the great 
painter Guido, and several others of much eminence. 
Here also are two famous leaning towers. They are 
rude square columns; the highest rises three hundred 
and sixteen feet, and inclines several feet. This incli¬ 
nation was caused by the settling of the ground in time 
of an earthquake. The two towers together present a 
quaint appearance, and what on earth they were erected 
for none can tell. 

The cemetery of Bologna is a singular arrangement. 
It is a vast pile of buildings, and the bodies are buried 
in niches. Connected with the buildings are inclosed 
gardens where graves are made. We spent an hour 
here musing on the brevity and vanity of human life, 
and then, having wandered over the city, and rode out 
to the hights of St. Michael, we retired to rest, to 
dream of home. 

The next morning we started for Ferrara, at which 
place we arrived in the afternoon of the same day. As 
was our custom, we proceeded, without loss of time, to 
see the town. It was once a fine city, but now is 
almost deserted, and the grass is growing in the streets. 
It has some galleries of paintings of merit, through 
which we ran, without stopping long enough to see any 
thing to advantage. 

Every stranger in Ferrara will visit the prison of 
Tasso, a little cell twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, 
where he was imprisoned by the duke for aspiring to the 
hand of his sister, the beautiful Eleanora. The history 
of Tasso was a sad one. All through life he seemed to 
be afflicted more than other men. In early life he was 
separated from his mother by a sad calamity, which he 
bewailed in his own affecting verse. 


BOLOGNA AND FERRARA. 


447 


44 Me from my mother’s breast, a child, 

Did cruel fortune tear ; 

The tears she shed, the kisses wild, 

She pressed, in her despair, 

On my pale cheek ; and O, the zeal 
Of her most passionate appeal 
To Heaven for me in air 
Alone recorded — with regret, 

I yet remember — weep for yet! 

Never, ah ! never more was I 
To meet her face to face, 

And feel my full heart beat more high 
In her beloved embrace ! 

I left her — O the pang severe ! 

Like young Camilla, or, more drear, 

Ascanius-like, to trace 
O’er hill and dale, through bush and brier, 

The footsteps of my wandering sire.” 

But Ills genius drew friends to his aid, and he became 
the companion of the nobles, and basked a while in their 
sunlight, and, at length, for the crime already specified, 
was thrown into prison by Alphonso. From this prison, 
where I do not see how any person could have lived 
long, and where on the walls Byron has scribbled his 
name, and which he has immortalized by his verse, 
came forth some of Tasso’s choicest poems. One which 
he wrote to his friend, Scipio Gonzaga, is full of wild, 
enthusiastic eloquence. 

44 Sure, pity, Scipio, on earth has fled 

From royal breasts to seek abode in heaven ; 

For if she were not banished, scorned, or dead, 

Would not some ear to my complaints be given ? 

Is noble faith at pleasure to be riven, 

Though freely pledged that I had nought to dread, 

And I, by endless outrage to be driven 
To worse than death — the deathlike life I’ve led? 

For this is of the quick a grave ; and here 


448 


EUROPA. 


Am I, a living, breathing corpse, interred, 

To go not forth till prisoned in my bier. 

O earth ! O heaven! if love and truth are heard, 

Or honor, fame, and virtue worth a tear, 

Let not my prayer be fruitless or deferred.” 

The poet was at length liberated, and removing to 
Naples, died of a broken heart in the monastery of St. 
Onofrio, to which my readers have already been taken. 

The house of Ariosto is here, and his room is just as 
he left it. The chair on which he sat, the table at 
which he wrote, and the very inkstand which he used 
remain. His tomb is in the Church of the Benedic¬ 
tines, and over it yet stands the lightning-riven bust, 
and is visited by many who have read and admired his 
writings. 

Just at night we left Ferrara, and soon crossing the 
River Po, entered the Austrian dominions. There we 
were subjected to an examination. Our baggage was 
overhauled without much ceremony. There was noth¬ 
ing suspicious in my bag but a sermon which I had 
nicely folded up in the very bottom of my budget. The 
official, a good-natured man, drew it forth, and turned 
over its pages, which I could hardly read myself, much 
less he, and seemed in considerable trouble about the 
harmless thing. He turned it over, handed it to his 
assistant, and mumbled in a strange tongue. Now and 
then, a glance at me would be given, as if he was en¬ 
deavoring to read in my countenance whether I was a 
red republican, socialist, or rebel. But my countenance 
was as blank as the sermon, which he finally threw into 
my bag with as much violence as if it had burnt his 
fingers. But this was not all. We were to be exam¬ 
ined by our passports to see if they were right. Dr. M. 
went first, and passed very well. His well-brushed coat 


BOLOGNA AND FERRARA 


449 


and white hat, and dignified demeanor, answered very 
well to the description of the document which declared 

him to be “ an ecclesiastic.” Next, Rev. Mr.-’s 

turn came. His papers declared him to be an ecclesi¬ 
astic, but his personal appearance seemed to belie the 
statement. His sack coat, hanging loosely upon his 
thin form, his cap turned half round, and his lips fixed 
for a discussion with porter or priest, rendered it some¬ 
what difficult for the officials to believe the statement 
made over the name of our honorable secretary of state, 
and indorsed by a legion of consuls, ministers, tide- 
waiters, and cheats. But at length he was permitted to 
pass. My turn came next, and my plight was more sad 
than either of my companions. To a coat of a peculiar 
cut I had added a little blue velvet Turkish cap, with a 
huge red tassel, and in my hand I carried a straw hat, 
which I used for fan, umbrella, and house roof. My 
companions looked bad enough, but I was in a more 
pitiable condition than either. So, when my passport 
was opened and read, the officer looked up with a most 
provoking smile, and exclaimed, “ What! you an eccle¬ 
siastic too! ” then, setting up a loud laugh, in which 
some dozen persons present joined, handed me back my 
papers, as if he imagined I was playing a clever trick, 
and palming myself off for what I was not. 

Having escaped, we pursued our way along in the 
dark, half asleep and half awake, until an extraordinary 
stir outside convinced us that we had arrived at Padua, 
where we were to take the cars for Venice. The sun was 
not yet up, and we repaired to Hotel Royal, where we 
arranged our toilet and prepared for a new start. All I 
remember of Padua is empty streets, rude buildings, a 
poor breakfast, an exorbitant price, a wrangle with the 
porter, a quarrel in the street with a man who wished 

47 LL* 



450 


EUROPA. 


to carry my carpet bag to the depot, a race to reach the 
cars, a dull stop of an hour waiting for them to start, 
and a comfortable sleep of half an hour after leaving the 
station. I did not stop long enough in what appeared 
to me to be a very mean Italian town to see St. Antony’s 
or St. Justina’s, to visit the Comaro or the Pisani, but 
hurried away to the watery empire of the “ Mistress of 
the Hundred Isles,” the gay, proud “ Queen of the 
Adriatic.” 


VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 


451 


XXXIV. 

VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 

There are few cities so dreamlike and enchanting as 
Venice. We arrived one morning in the summer, when 
all nature seemed alive with beauty and redolent with 
praise. We entered in the cars, riding over a long 
bridge of stone, and landed at the railway station. This 
bridge connects Venice with the main land, and chains 
this daughter of Italia to her ambitious parent. We 
found at the railway, instead of cabs and carriages, such 
as we see in France and England, a long line of neat 
gondolas, each manned, and ready to put off into the city. 

Venice was built long ago by refugees from the main 
land, who fled to the reeds and marshes of the Rialto, 
and amid the little islands built their houses and pre¬ 
pared their homes. From the bosom of the wave rose 
up the great city, with its palaces, churches, and towers. 
For a long time, the city was governed by a doge, as¬ 
sisted by the tribunes. The city continued to increase; 
the glory of Venetian arms was sounded from Constan¬ 
tinople to Jerusalem ; and the richness of her commerce 
was the wonder of the Archipelago. From a little city 
of huts and rushes arose a great and magnificent repub¬ 
lic, and in the sea appeared fine edifices, which out- 
beautified those upon the solid land. Unlike any other 
city on earth, the seat of vast wealth, filled with a joy¬ 
ous and pleasure-loving people, it became, and continued 
for a while, the most gay and delightful city in the world, 


452 


EUROPA. 


mocking even the splendors of Rome, Florence, and 
Ferrara. Artists and poets here gathered to kindle the 
sacred flame of art; and men of commerce here con¬ 
vened to amass princely fortunes. The lovers of the 
beautiful and the sublime, the priests of religion, the 
slaves of sensualism, all found in Venice congenial 
pursuits and associates; while on the bosom of the 
deep, the “ Queen of the Adriatic ” herself reposed, a 
sparkling gem in nature’s ephod. 

“ Underneath day’s azure eyes, 

Ocean’s nursling, Venice, lies — 

A peopled labyrinth of walls, 

Amphitrite’s destined halls, 

Which her hoary sire now paves 
With his blue and beaming waves. 

Lo, the sun upsprings behind, 

Broad, red, radiant, half reclined 
On the level, quivering line 
Of the waters crystalline ; 

And before that chasm of light, 

As within a furnace bright, 

Column, tower, and dome, and spire 
Shine like obelisks of fire, 

Pointing, with inconstant motion, 

From the altar of dark ocean, 

To the sapphire-tinted skies, 

As the flames of sacrifice 
From the marble shrines did rise, 

As to pierce the dome of gold 
Where Apollo spoke of old.” 

On leaving the depot, we entered a boat, and sailed 
by palaces, churches, halls, and gardens, to a hotel, 
situated near the centre of the city. The gondolas, 
which are used instead of cabs, are long, black, narrow 
boats, with a black awning to protect the traveler 
from the rays of the sun. The boats are all of one 


VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 


453 


color, a law being in force to this effect, to prevent any 
extravagance on the part of the boatmen. They are not 
so pretty as those on the waters of the Mediterranean, 
in the harbor of Marseilles and Genoa. They are pro¬ 
pelled by one or two men, who, as they pull along, 
warble some soft Venetian lay, which, echoing over the 
waters, steals gently to the senses with the most pleas¬ 
ing sadness. 

As we rowed on, other gondolas passed us and hur¬ 
ried by, some filled with gay, laughing girls, on some 
pleasing errand; others crowded with men; and others, 
still, loaded with baggage. The fares, the number of 
passengers, and the amount of baggage to be carried, 
are all regulated by government, and each gondolier 
carries his tariff of fares in his pocket, or in the saloon 
of his little vessel. We went about two miles, and 
drew up to the door of a hotel, the steps of which were 
washed by the blue waves. While my companions 
were negotiating for apartments, I amused myself in 
catching a large shell fish on the steps of the house, 
and pulling the bunches of moss and seaweed from the 
front of the building. Having made arrangements for 
a day’s stop, we went out to see the city, and enjoy a 
sail up and down the streets, whose pavements are 
liquid waves, and whose carriages are black and som¬ 
bre gondolas. 

Venice is built upon seventy-two islands, and is con¬ 
nected by three hundred and six bridges, scarcely any 
of which can be crossed by a carriage. We went to 
several academies of art, to the churches, in one of 
which is the tomb of Titian and the monument of 
Canova; to the Cathedral of San Marco, up into the 
high tower, from which a view of the city is obtained; 
through St. Mark’s Square, up and down, down and 


454 


EUROPA. 


up; by the doge’s palace and giant’s stairs; now gaz¬ 
ing on the arch of the Kialto, and then upon the Bridge 
of Sighs, over which no prisoner passed but once. All 
the time I was in Venice, I seemed to be in a dream; 
and to this day I cannot make that fairy city appear to 
me as a reality. At night, as I sat down at my win¬ 
dow in the hotel, below me, in the long canal, was 
heard the splash of the oars, and the earnest conversa¬ 
tion of the boatmen, as their gondolas glided along. 
The first object I saw in the morning, as I gazed out, 
was a load of vegetables and flowers bound for the 
market of the city, rowed by a woman, who cheerily 
sang as she dipped her oar in the yielding wave. 

The government of Venice has always been noto¬ 
riously cruel. The halls of justice and the dungeons 
of torture have ever been near each other, and an ac¬ 
cusation has always been equivalent to conviction. 
The priest and the tyrant have ruled the “ Queen of 
the Sea;” and deeds of night have been perpetrated 
here, such as would make humanity shudder. The 
instruments of toAure yet remain to tell the story of 
deep and horrid cruelty, and all the waters of the 
Adriatic are not sufficient to wash out the stains. An 
instance of the intolerance of the irresponsible govern¬ 
ment has been made, by Byron, the theme of one of 
his most beautiful works, the particulars of which are 
given by a recent traveler. 1 

“ Wearied with the cares of state, and foreseeing 
troubles ahead, the old doge had once and again asked 
permission to retire from his office; but so far from 
granting his request, the council exacted of him an 
oath to retain it for life. Three of his four sons were 


1 Rev. Robert Turnbull. 


VENICE — VERONA—MILAN. 


455 


already dead, “hunted down” by the fell adversaries of 
his house. Giacomo, young, beautiful, and brave, was 
his only pride and hope. He had formed a splendid 
alliance with the noble family of the Contarini, and 
was one of the greatest favorites among the Venetians. 
But four years from his marriage he was accused of 
having received presents from foreign potentates — a 
high crime in Venice; and in the presence of his own 
father, he was subjected to the rack, and when a con¬ 
fession was extorted from him in his agony, that father 
was compelled to pronounce his sentence of banishment 
for life. 

“ Some years after, an assassination occurred in the 
streets of Venice. The chief of the Ten, Donato, was 
murdered on his return from a sitting of the council, 
at his own door, by unknown hands. A victim was de¬ 
manded for this monstrous offence; and the coadjutors 
of the slain magistrate eagerly caught at the slightest 
clew which might lead to the detection of the offender. 
A servant of Giacomo Foscari had bgen seen in Venice 
on the evening of the murder; and it w T as said that, 
on being met by the chief of the Ten in a boat off 
Mestre, the next morning, he had, in answer to the 
question, ‘ What news % ’ reported the assassination 
some hours before it was generally known. The ser¬ 
vant was arrested, examined, and barbarously tortured; 
but even the eightieth application of the strappado 
failed to elicit a word which might justify their suspi¬ 
cion. And yet the young Foscari was recalled, placed 
on the rack vacated by his servant, tortured in his 
father’s presence, and condemned, although he per¬ 
sisted to the last in asserting his innocence. On this 
he was banished to a more distant and painful exile. 
In the mean while, Niccolo Erizzo, a noble infamous 


456 


EUROPA. 


for his crimes, confessed on his death bed that it was 
under his dagger that the murdered councillor had 
fallen. And yet Giacomo Foscari suffered no remis¬ 
sion of his punishment! 

“ But the love of home was strong upon the exile. 
Day and night he dreamed of his wife and children, 
until his brain reeled, and he resolved that he would 
procure his recall at any risk. So, writing to the 
Prince of Milan, imploring his good offices with the 
senate, he left the letter where it would easily be found 
by the spies, who watched him even in his exile. The 
result was a hasty summons to Venice, to answer for 
the heavy crime of soliciting foreign intercession with 
his native government. 

44 For a third time Francesco Foscari listened to the 
accusation of his son, who calmly avowed his offence, 
but stated that he had committed it for the sole pur¬ 
pose of being recalled. But there was 4 no flesh ’ in 
the obdurate hearts of his judges. Thirty times was 
he raised on ‘the ^ccursed cord,’ and yet no false con¬ 
fession came from the quivering lips of the sufferer. 
Torn, bleeding, and senseless, he was carried to the 
apartments of the doge, firm in his original purpose. 
But the judges were equally firm in theirs, and again 
renewed his sentence of exile, with the addition that 
its first year should be spent in prison. Before his de¬ 
parture, one interview was permitted with his family. 
The doge, his father, was now old and decrepit; and 
when he came, supported by his crutch, into the cham¬ 
ber, he spoke with great firmness, so that it might 
appear as if he was addressing another than his son — 
his only son! 4 Go, Giacomo,’ was his reply, when 

entreated for the last time to solicit mercy, 4 submit to 
the will of your country, and seek nothing further.’ 


VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 


457 


It was too much for the old man; when he retired, he 
swooned in the arms of his attendants. His son again 
departed into exile, and was soon afterwards relieved by 
death.” 

But we leave Venice, where floods arc dashing 
against the door steps of the finest palaces, and men 
are fishing from their windows. The city is fast losing 
its glory and vitality. The palaces are being deserted, 
and one can be rented at a small cost. The buildings, 
though noble, now seem falling into decay, and the once 
proud “ Mistress of the Hundred Isles” is becoming a 
slave to the house of Hapsburg. 

A ride of four hours brought us to Verona, a rather 
mean city between Venice and Milan. During the time 
which expired before we could “ go ahead,” we went to 
the Amphitheater, which is in a tolerable state of pres¬ 
ervation, and gives a fine idea of such ancient struc¬ 
tures. The seats remain, and only a part of the wall is 
broken down. In the arena is a small wooden building 
for circus purposes — a striking illustration of the de¬ 
generacy and decay of the city. The little rude build¬ 
ing in the arena, and the noble Amphitheater itself, 
form a striking emblem of the Verona of the present, 
and the Verona of the past. 

We had read Shakspeare, and wished to see the tomb 
of Juliet, which is here. Our romantic ideas had a fall; 
and what a fall! We entered a narrow passage, in 
which a man was washing the dirty wheels of a car¬ 
riage, and where were .several horses, which nearly 
trampled us as we passed on, and knocked at a rude 
door, which was opened by a woman with a child in her 
arms. She was an Italian woman, with dark skin, coal 
black eyes, piercing and glistening, and a form as 
graceful as a sibyl. Giving her babe to another, she 

58 mm 


458 


ETTROPA. 


conducted us through a stable into a garden. We 
passed along under a heavy overhanging grape vine, 
well hung with unripe fruit, to a little chapel, once 
used for devotional purposes, and in which a tolerable 
fresco of the crucifixion still remains. Here, in this 
chapel, which is now used for dovecot and hencoop, a 
stone tub was pointed out to us as the veritable coffin 
of Juliet. The hole left as a breathing-place was 
pointed out. Visitors have broken off pieces of the 
marble, and carried it away. We wished to do the 
same, but our pretty gypsy guide would allow of no 
such thing. Dr. M. was bent on success, but the 
woman was immovable. He offered her money, but 
she indignantly replied,— 

“No possible — no possible! ” 

He then tried to coax her a little, and with fair com¬ 
pliments secure a piece of the marble; but though her 
reply to his persuasions was less indignant than before, 
it was no less firmly given: — 

“No possible — no possible! ” 

We wandered about Verona a few hours, into stores, 
offices, churches, graveyards, and wherever else w T e 
imagined we could see something, hear something, or 
find something to buy or beg, to forward our plans, or 
perfect our knowledge of the city and its inhabitants. 

At two o’clock in the afternoon, we took the diligence, 
and jolted on until eleven, when we stopped an hour to 
take supper in a town with an outlandish name, which 
I have forgotten. Supper being swallowed, we pressed 
on by diligence and railway to Milan, where we arrived 
on the morning of the 4th of July. Here, to cele¬ 
brate the day, I went to bed sick, having overtaxed my¬ 
self for the few days previous by overeating, overriding, 
and overworking. At night, I went out to see the 


VENICE — VERONA — MILAN.' 


459 


Milan Cathedral, one of the finest specimens of the 
pointed Gothic architecture in the world. It struck 
me more impressively than St. Peter’s at Pome. Any 
description would fail to do justice to the noble design 
and the exquisite finish. One involuntarily uncovers his 
head, and feels a profound awe creeping over him, as he 
walks up the magnificent nave. In one of the chapels, 
a funeral service was being performed by several priests. 
The coffin and the mourners were present. As I stood 
looking on, I felt my handkerchief sliding out of my 
pocket, and on turning round abruptly, saw a great 
awkward fellow with it in his hands. I laid one hand 
upon his shoulder, and seized the handkerchief with the 
other. For a moment, the thief showed light; he jab¬ 
bering in Italian, while I scolded in English. The 
priests turned round, the people appeared horror-struck, 
but I still held on to the article. The fellow, seeing 
that he should get into trouble, gave up, and devoutly 
crossing himself, moved away, an admirable specimen 
of Italian Christians. Had he stolen the handkerchief 
there in the cathedral before the altar, one of those very 
priests would have absolved him from all sin for a single 
franc, and satisfied his conscience by an act of priestly 
forgiveness. I blame the religion, and not the man. 
The Catholic church is admirably calculated to produce 
all kinds of crime, and she is responsible for the present 
state of morals in continental Europe. 

At Milan, in an old convent, now used for a stable 
and for barracks, is the original painting of Leonardo 
da Vinci. It has been retouched until its former beauty 
is gone, and yet, as the original of the multitude of 
imitations, it is an object of great interest. 

Milan is a fine city, but I did not see much of it. It 
has about one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. 


460 


EUROPA. 


The Austrians have possession of it, and contrary to my 
expectations, I found them civil and obliging. Both 
here and at Venice, we were treated with more genuine 
good manners by the officers than down in the dirty 
dominions of the pope; and were I to-day in trouble in 
Europe, I should expect more justice in Vienna than at 
Rome. 

We are now prepared to leave Italy, the land of 
flowers and fruits, poets and painters. The finest of all 
lands, it lives under a bitter curse. The hand of God is 
on it, withering its flowers and threatening wo to the 
people. Priestcraft and kingcraft are doing what for¬ 
eign armies and invading forces never could do. The 
pope’s foot is on the track of progress, and his iron 
hand is raised against the spread of truth. An Italian 
patriot, 1 weeping for his country, thus exclaims: — 

u O thou devoted land, that canst not rear 
In peace thine offspring ! thou the lost and won, 

The fair and fatal soil, that dost appear 
Too narrow still for each contending son ! 

Receive the stranger in his fierce career, 

Parting the spoils ! thy chastening has begun ! 

And wresting from thy kings the guardian sword, 

Foes whom thou ne’er hadst wronged sit proudly at thy board.” 

As the traveler pursues his way from the palaces of 
Naples up to the foot of the Alps, he forgets, in the 
present degradation of the' people, that this is the land 
of Dante, Michael Angelo, Petrarch, and Manzoni. 
“ Genius is dead,” he will declare, as he sees a race of 
beggars thronging the Capitol, and whining at the door 
of the Vatican. “ This is not Italy,” he will affirm, 
as he inquires in vain for Caesar’s glory and Nero’s 
pride. 


1 Alessandro Manzoni. 


VENICE — VERONA — MILAN. 


461 


u Italia ! O Italia! thou who hast 
The fatal gift of beauty which became 
A funeral dower of present woes and past, 

On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame, 

And annals graved in characters of flame. 

O God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 
Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim 
Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
To shed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress.” 1 

But how vain are all the sad songs which are sung, 
and all the wails of sorrows which are uttered, over the 
fallen, disgraced land of the emperors and the popes! 
Italy has chosen her own lot, and followed her own 
destiny. Her degradation is self-imposed, and her suf¬ 
ferings are of her own making. She has voluntarily 
relinquished her claim to the improvements of science, 
and the benefits of the word of God, and stands out 
an example of mistaken zeal, blinded enthusiasm, and 
unmitigated cruelty. 

1 Byron. 

MM * 


462 


EUROPA. 


I 


XXXV. 


THE ALPS —PASS OF THE SIMPLON. 

It was a beautiful day when we jolted out of Milan. 
The sun was just gilding the turrets and pinnacles of 
the magnificent cathedral as we turned our hacks upon 
fair Italia. Soon all the beautiful buildings and the 
works of human art were left behind, and an unabridged 
edition of nature was before us. The lower Alps were 
soon reached, and in the hazy atmosphere presented an 
ever-varying appearance, now rough and rugged, and 
then the smoothly-rounded cone; now bare and desolate, 
and anon crowned with verdure and covered with foliage. 
And soon the higher Alps were gained, all misty and 
dim, and having on the everlasting nightcap of snow 
and ice. We crossed the Toccia on a swing boat ferry, 
and rode along the shores of Lake Maggiore, within 
sight of the picturesque Island of Isola Bella, which 
rises from the bosom of the dark wave like a star shining 
through a night cloud. The road all along was delight¬ 
ful and pleasant. Formed for the march of armies, it was 
broad, smooth, level, and destitute of ruts and gullies. 
It winds around the base of the mountains, whose sides 
are covered with vines and foliage of various kinds, from 
out of which peep now and then the cottage of the 
peasant, the church tower, and the humble unostenta¬ 
tious village, and whose summits are concealed by the 
ever-shifting clouds. 

A whole day was passed in the diligence, during which 


THE ALPS —PASS OF THE SIMPLON. 


463 


we amused ourselves as best we could, discussing ques¬ 
tions of politics, morals, and religion; gazing with 
admiration upon the magnificent scenery through 
which we rode; and often wandering back to the less 
poetic clime from which we had journeyed, but which 
had a greener and fresher place in our remembrance 
than any land w*e had seen, or any city whose hospi¬ 
tality we had shared. We arrived at the foot of the 
Simplon, and entered the grand pass, just at nightfall, 
and, until nine the next morning, continued to ascend 
over the splendid road which the genius of Napoleon 
built amid those frowning liights, and over which his 
armies passed in midwinter, now overwhelmed by the 
avalanche, and anon emerging from the danger, to pour 
themselves upon the smiling fields below. The scenery 
was wild and awful. On one side of us towered the 
high peaks, from which swept down the cold, icy wind; 
on the other side were deep ravines and terrible preci¬ 
pices, which yawned as if eager to devour an army. 
Now we passed the refuge houses ; the convent, at the 
gate of which stood a large St. Bernard dog ready for 
duty; beautiful cascades leaping down from cliff to 
cliff; piles of snow in midsummer; and many a huge 
rock projecting overhead, and ready to fall upon the 
head of the traveler. Yet higher up we go, until the 
cross, wdiich marks the turning-point, standing in its 
loneliness, is 'seen, a truthful emblem, suggesting holy 
thoughts to the traveler in his dreary march. 

The most terrible moment spent in crossing the Sim¬ 
plon is that which is required to penetrate the gorge 
of Gondo, a magnificent gallery, cut five hundred and 
ninety-six feet through the hard rock, down over which 
the water tumbles with ceaseless roar. The first thought 
which rushes through the mind, while in this splendid 


464 


EUROPA. 


passage, is of the greatness of God. The Christian 
hears his voice in the roar of the waterfall, and sees his 
form in the silent grandeur of the hights above and the 
caverns below. The next thought will pay a voluntary 
tribute to the mighty genius of the conquering hero, at 
whose command this road was built. An ordinary man 
never would have made the attempt; the stupendous 
idea of cutting out, not a little footpath, but a broad 
road, over which regiments of artillery might march, 
Napoleon alone could originate. Whatever we may 
think of his moral character, and however much we 
may denounce his unconquerable ambition, we can but 
admire his lofty genius and determined energy. His 
mind was fitted for conquests; and his soul rose above 
the difficulties which nature placed in his way. In 
those broad roads across the Simplon, the Splugen, and 
St. Bernard, and in the improvements which he made 
at Borne, Naples, and in Spain, we have an idea of the 
sublime plan — sublime, though murderous — on which 
he acted. Though accustomed to the confusion of battle 
and the din of war, his taste for the true and beautiful 
may be gathered from projected improvements, which 
were abandoned in consequence of his fall, in Italy, 
Germany, and also in his own beloved France. The 
beauties of Wilhelmshohe, and the adornment of many 
a fancy spot, may be traced to the designs of the con¬ 
queror. 

All that night we continued to climb, the impres¬ 
sions of awe becoming deeper every moment. There 
is every thing in that wild scene to make one forget the 
narrow occupations of earth, and lift up his soul to 
God. The stupendous hights; the yawning caverns ; 
the everlastling roar of the descending torrents; the 
dark night and the dawning morning; the hospice 


THE ALPS —PASS OF THE SIMPLON. 


465 


of the monks; the exposure to the descending ava¬ 
lanche ; the galleries hewn out of solid rock, dripping 
with water and hung with icicles; the wet, misty 
clouds which now sweep down upon us, and anon 
roll back, and leave us in moonlight and starlight,— 
all increase the interest and awfulness of the ascent. 
The cold was intense, though not greater than we ex¬ 
pected. The snow was lying in drifts on the sides of 
the mountains ; and above us, in the gorges, shone the 
glaciers. In one single night, we had passed from the 
summer of Italy to the cold, ceaseless winter scenes of 
the hoary Alps. The green, vine-clad fields were ex¬ 
changed for long, deep drifts of snow which never 
melt, and glaciers which never cease to shine. 

It was the morning of the holy Sabbath when we 
reached the cross which tells where the ascent ends and 
the descent begins, and denotes the altitude of the pass. 
It was good thus to be in the midst of nature’s works 
on such a day. There were no regiments of soldiers, 
no chanting choirs, no robed priests, but God was 
there in that awful solitude; and as I paused at that 
cross, the sacred emblem of the believer’s faith, the 
sublime words of Bowring ran though my mind and 
trembled on my lips : — 

“ In the cross of Christ I glory, 

Towering e’er the works of time; 

All the light of sacred story 

Gathers round its head sublime.” 

Down we rolled, rattling along, now holding on to 
the side of the rickety diligence, anon bursting forth 
with exclamations of surprise at the grand and awful 
scenes around us. The passage of the Alps is not 
attended, in summer, with any particular danger; but 

59 


466 


EUROPA. 


in winter the traveler encounters fearful perils. He is 
liable, while passing through the gorges, to be over¬ 
whelmed by the avalanche which sweeps down with 
such terrible fury and such overpowering might. The 
French armies crossed the Alps in midwinter, and, led 
by Napoleon and his valorous marshals, in spite of all 
the difficulties, threw themselves upon the cities of 
Italy, ere men had ceased to wonder at such boldness. 

On our way down, we came to Brieg, a little, miser¬ 
able town, on the Swiss side; and here we dined. It 
was Sabbath on the Alps, but in this little Catholic 
village it was training day. Some kind of a religious 
celebration was in progress. A procession passed 
through the streets to the village church, w r hich was 
decorated with evergreen and filled with people. This 
procession was a most singular one, and consisted of a 
strangely mixed company. First came a band of music, 
as uncouth and discordant as one could imagine, such 
as we might suppose would be made by a company of 
boys with tin horns and pans, who were endeavoring to 
drown the whistle of the locomotive; then followed 
several young men, grotesquely dressed, one as an old 
feudal lord, one as a gay knight in full armor, one as 
a Highlander, and so through a great variety of fantas¬ 
tic costumes ; then followed five or six well-fed, portly 
Jesuits, in long black robes and three-cornered hats, 
who walked as demurely as if they were doing a very 
religious thing; behind followed a crowd of people of 
all ages and conditions. The procession moved on to 
the church, where some service was held; but we did 
not care to follow. That this had any thing to do with 
religion, we could hardly imagine; and we can scarcely 
conceive of any greater abomination than such irrevei 
ence offered to the God of grace. 


THE ALPS —PASS OF THE SIMPLON. 


467 


I was pleased with a hat which the ladies in the 
street wore on this Sabbath day. It was of straw or 
silk, formed like a gentleman’s beaver, with a low 
crown and wide rim. Around the hat was a band of 
crape or ribin, while the whole was tastefully adorned 
and trimmed with purple, pink, or gilt. This is the 
only town in which we saw these headdresses to any 
extent. Those that were made well were very becom¬ 
ing, and were well adapted to show a pretty face to 
advantage. One of our company caught one of the 
young women as she passed, and persuaded her to take 
off her hat and allow him to examine it; and when he 
returned it, she seemed quite gratified at the compli¬ 
ment. The day seemed very unlike the Sabbath; and. 
I could but contrast its observance in this Catholic vil¬ 
lage with the quietness and order of an English or an 
American Sabbath. Here all was mirth, confusion, 
beating of drums, shouting of the mob, festivity, and 
sin; in the Protestant town, order, quiet, and a heav¬ 
enly calm reigns. 


468 


EUEOPA. 


/, <*• L ■ 44 j 

0 i;. 
mrvoUz 


,j.tt 


XXXVI. 


t - * f 

SWITZERLAND — LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 

* ■' 77 . -•/ ' ' : 7 / . 

We left Brieg in the afternoon, and after a hard, 
fatiguing ride, arrived early the next morning at Lau¬ 
sanne, where we tarried a while. The contrast between 

this place and the cities on the other side of the Alps 

- •- 

was very favorable to the former. We could see that 
we had passed from a region of filth and indolence to 
a quiet, industrious, well-ordered country; and Protes¬ 
tant Switzerland, though denied the natural advantages 
of Papal Italy, seemed to us a paradise compared with 
the lazy monks and dirty streets of the cities of the 
pope. Near the hotel at which we took breakfast is 
the old house of Edward Gibbon, and the garden of 
our hotel was once the arbor in which he wrote the 
last page of his work, “ The Decline and Fall of the 
Roman Empire.” We wandered over the town, saw 
whatever was to be seen, and again entering the dili¬ 
gence, started for Geneva. The road winds along the 
shores of Lake Leman, and at every turn brings some 
new scene of beauty to the view. The lake itself, as 
one says, “ lies in the shape of a half moon, with the 
horns curved towards the south, and is the largest lake 
in Switzerland, being fifty-five miles long.” The waters 
are clear, and reflect, as in a polished mirror, the sky, 
the birds which hover over or fly across it, and the tiny 
ships which float upon its surface. The banks rise 
gradually, covered with objects of beauty, from the 



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SWITZERLAND —LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 469 


water side to the towering mountain, and the eye rests 
upon a scene of delightful magnificence, wander which 
way it may, from the lone rock in the sparkling deep, 
on which stands the Castle of Chillon, the prison of 
Bonnivrad, up to the old snow-crowned summit of 
Mont Blanc. 

Nothing could be more delightful than the appear¬ 
ance of Geneva, as we entered it one afternoon, weary 
and hungry. The people were in the midst of a great 
national festival. Arches spanned the streets; flags of 
various colors were suspended from the windows; mot¬ 
toes, wreaths, and evergreens adorned the public and 
private buildings, and music was sounding in every 
street. The inhabitants, dressed in gala day attire, filled 
the streets; cannon sounded from the neighboring 
hights; bells sent out a merry peal from every tower; 
and all the various signs of some great fete met us at 
every step we took. The occasion of all this, we were 
told, was the occurrence of the annual shooting match, 
which calls together multitudes from all parts of Swit¬ 
zerland. This festival is conducted somewhat on the 
following plan: The people of the various cantons 
come together, and spend a whole week in target shoot- 
ins:. Prizes of from five francs to five thousand francs 

o 

are awarded; and on this occasion it was estimated that 
forty thousand persons from abroad were in the city. 
The shooting ground was laid out in an open square, 
inclosed on all sides by temporary buildings, erected for 
the purpose. On the front side was a stupendous 
wooden arch, under which the masses enter the grounds. 
This arch was gayly decorated with flowers and festoons, 
giving it quite a fairy-like appearance. On the right, 
as we entered, was a long pile of buildings for the sale 
of fancy articles, such as visitors would wish to carry 


470 


EUKOPA. 


away with them to their distant homes. On the left 
was a monstrous eating-house, rough, but neat and com¬ 
fortable, and which, some one said to us, would seat five 
thousand persons at once. In the background, opposite 
the entrance, were the buildings for the shooters. This 
was divided into different compartments, each having a 
clerk, who kept an account of the shots fired. The 
targets were in the rear, at a distance, as I was told, of 
four hundred and fifty feet. The Swiss carabine was 
employed by the marksmen, and they used it with won¬ 
derful accuracy. In the center of the open square was 
a small circular oratory, or glass house, a sort of 
crystal palace, in which were the prizes. The building 
being of glass, the prizes, which were hung up, could 
be seen. Here were purses, through which the shining 
gold could be seen, silver and gold plate, splendid 
watches, musical instruments, and such like. The 
number of competitors was very large. A hundred 
guns were cracking at once, and this was kept up for 
days together. Some fire many times during the week, 
thus increasing the chance of obtaining a prize. As far 
as I could see, the wdiole affair was an honest sort of 
competition, and much more reasonable than the fete 
days of Italian saints. 

The difference between a Protestant and a Catholic 
country was more apparent here than at Lausanne, and 
the more we saw, the more fully were we convinced of 
the value of the religion of the Bible. Our stay in 
Geneva lasted but a few days, and these were spent de¬ 
lightfully. One of the first objects of interest was the 
house in which Calvin lived, situated in an obscure 
street. We entered the dark and dismal gateway, and 
knocked at the door of the room which was once the 
study of the reformer. Up these very stairs, and into 


SWITZERLAND — LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 471 

t 

this cheerless study, the men who were associated with 
Calvin went, and held communion. Kindred spirits 
they were, engaged in a kindred, cause. Here those 
volumes were written which have left such an indelible 
impress upon the world — indelible because they only 
echo the teachings of God. Here the prayers were 
offered which went up to God, and moved his gracious 
will, and drew upon the supplicant such a measure of 
the Holy Ghost. Here were arranged those mighty 
schemes to disinthrall the human mind, the influence 
of which we have not yet, and never shall cease to feel. 
The house is now occupied by those who scarcely know 
the name of Calvin, and who look upon those who 
come with reverence to survey the premises very much 
as the barbarians of Italy look upon the artists who 
cross sea and land to study the works of the great mas¬ 
ters, or as the infidels of Jerusalem look upon those 
who come on pilgrim feet to bow in sad Gethsemane, 
or weep in sadness over the sepulcher of Jesus. 

From the house of Calvin w^e go to the old Church of 
St. Peter, where he used to preach. It was refreshing 
to see a church without candles, crosses, ornaments, and 
statues. The edifice is a fine specimen of the plain 
Gothic, having its vane, aisles, and pulpit, the canopy 
of which once hung down over the head of Calvin. 
There is a richness and freshness in the church, so dif¬ 
ferent from the cathedrals of Catholic countries, that 
one breathes freely, and feels that he is in the temple 
of God, and not in a playhouse, where the actors are 
monks, and the play a burlesque on the religion of 
Christ. But alas! the pure and life-giving doctrines 
once taught here by the reformer are taught here no 
longer. The rank weeds of error have grown up, and 
are checking the growth of the pure faith of the Bible. 


472 


EUROPA. 


The multitudes who tread the marble pavements are 
taught to deny the most precious truths which Calvin 
uttered, and are led backward towards the corrupt 
church of Rome. 

From the house and church of Calvin it is natural 
that we should go to his grave, which is in a field of 
tombs just without the city. The grave of the great 
and good man is here all unhonored. A simple square 
stone is over it, rising about a foot from the ground, on 
which are the simple letters, “ J. C.,” put there in ac¬ 
cordance with his own dying injunction, in which he 
strictly forbade the erection of a costly monument. Cal¬ 
vin is the great man in the history of Geneva, and has 
given to it a fame and glory which no other name has 
ever conferred, and we should think the people would 
rise above even his dying instructions, and erect some 
enduring tribute to his fame. And yet what is a stone 
pillar, or a marble sarcophagus, for such a man as 
Calvin ? Are not his life and labors a monument 
higher and nobler than any lifeless shaft which man 
could raise above his gravel 

In this same graveyard with Calvin sleeps Sir 
Humphry Davy, under a simple stone, with a modest 
epitaph. Well, he could afford to do without a eulogy 
or a long inscription. Point out the grave, and though 
no stone marks it, and no flower blooms over it, men 
will stop long beside it. 

The library of Geneva is valuable as a collection of 
ancient manuscripts, and several antique pictures and 
portraits of great value. The number of books is not 
large, but choice, and a half day is spent very profitably 
here in looking over copies of works which have stirred 
the world in their times, and which have long since 
been laid aside, and their places taken by others, better 


SWITZERLAND —LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 473 

adapted in style and thought to the improved state of 
society and manners. 

Here at Geneva lives J. H. Merle d’Aubigne, one of 
the greatest men of his times. We were not fortunate 
enough to see him, having overrun, in some other excur¬ 
sion, the time set by him for us to call. His name is 
honored at Geneva, and all classes regard him as a 
giant in mind, and a saint in piety. His influence is 
very great, and all wielded for God and his sacred 
cause. We went into the little chapel w here he and his 
associates declare the word of life to the Genevans. It 
is a poor affair, not half as comfortable as the lecture- 
room of our own church. We thought how fortunate 
the people must be who can sit beneath the ministra¬ 
tions of such a man, and how grateful must they — 
should they be! 

All my remembrances of Switzerland are pleasant. 
The rocky land of Tell, though mountainous and icy, 
has fields as green and hearts as warm as any other 
country on the globe, and at Lausanne and Geneva 
were spent by our little party some most pleasant hours. 


“ ’Tvvas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, 

Peopling it with affections ; but he found 
It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind’s purified beings; ’twas the ground 
Where early love his Psyche’s zone unbound, 

And hallowed it with loveliness ; ’tis lone, 

And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 

And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne. 

“ Lausanne and Ferney ! ye have been the abodes 
Of names which unto you bequeathed a name ; 

Mortals who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 

A path to perpetuity of fame ; 

60 NN* 


474 


EUROPA. 


They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame 
Of Heaven, again assailed, if Heaven the while 
On man and man’s research could deign do more than smile.” 

At Geneva I parted with my traveling companions, 
with whom I sailed from America, and whose society I 
had enjoyed thus far. They were previously bent on 
seeing something more of the Alps, and were determined 
to have a slide in the Yale of Chamouni, while I was as 
eager to see more of England, the dear old fatherland, 
and become acquainted with the men of that noble 
country. 

“ What, are mountains to a man? ” 

So I bade adieu to “ Alps on Alps,” to the cold, shining 
glacier, to old Mont Blanc, which reared itself within 
sight of my hotel window, and all their majestic scenes. 
I said 66 farewell ” to the land of Calvin; to his unhon¬ 
ored grave. I turned one look on the placid waters of 
Lake Leman, and murmured “ adieu.” 

“ Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake 
With the wild world I dwelt in is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring : 

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from destruction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean’s roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister’s voice reproved 
That I with stern delights should e’er have been so moved. 

“ It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains dusk, yet clear, 

Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 

Save darkened Jura, whose capped hights appear 
Precipitously steep; and drawing near 


SWITZERLAND—LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 475 


There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 

Or chirps the grasshopper one good night carol more. 
• • • • 

“ At intervals some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still ; 

There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 

But that is fancy ; for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil, 

Weeping themselves away.” 


I engaged my passage in the diligence for Dijon, 
which started at midnight. I arrived at the office a few 
minutes before the time for leaving, and found two men 
asleep in the apartment which I was to occupy during a 
ride of some fifteen or twenty hours. As I clambered 
in, I could see nothing but two enormous beards, which 
appeared ferociously black, as the light of the con¬ 
ductor’s lantern shone upon them; I could hear nothing 
but the wild snort of the sleepers, who doubtless were 
afflicted with nightmare; I could smell nothing but to¬ 
bacco, as if they had smoked themselves to sleep, and 
were dozing on quantities of the smuggled weed; I 
could feel nothing but four legs, which seemed to be so 
arranged as to fill the whole space, forming a St. 
Andrew’s cross. An expressive grunt answered my 
courteous inquiry for a seat, and a low, deep curse, in 
English, informed me that I had trodden upon the toe 
of one of my cosy companions. However, I was used 
to this mode of living, and so prepared myself to con¬ 
tend for my rights, which were soon yielded to me. 
Across bridges, through gateways, along streets, over 
pavements, up hill, down hill, jolting, rumbling, turn¬ 
ing round, going ahead, we went out of Geneva, over 
the Jura Mountains, through a country grandly beau¬ 
tiful and infinitely diversified. 


476 


EUROPA. 


/ 


XXXVII. 

FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 

All night, all day we rode, until some time the next 
afternoon, I think it was, we found ourselves driven into 
the yard of a French custom-house. The discovery of a 
lot of Swiss jewelry on the person of one of our fellowr 
travelers led the officers to be exceedingly rigid in their 
examinations. One of us they had discovered to be a 
rogue, and as several of us were of one language, they 
concluded we all belonged to one company. So, with 
many a suspicious look, and many a dark frown, they 
overhauled our dirty and ragged clothing, expecting at 
every turn to make some wonderful discovery. I had 
started from Geneva sooner than had been arranged, 
and was obliged to take some of my clothing out of the 
wash tub, undried and unsmoothed. Packing in a bag 
several articles with the water well drained out, I threw 
them on the diligence, and they jolted to the French 
frontier. The official came suddenly upon this bag of 
wet clothes, and at once was in “ the suds ” indeed. 
What to make of such a bundle he did not know, but 
concluded that something must be wrong about it, as 
in all his history as a revenue collector he had never 
known a traveler to journey with his clothing in such 
a plight. But after the most careful examination, he 
could find no bottles of cologne, no nicely-packed 
cigars, no rich silks, no Genevan watches, not even a 
child’s toy, or a music box. But what could be the 


FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 


477 


object of this curious bag of clothes. A custom-house 
officer in Maine would at once have seized the whole 
as some mysterious device to smuggle liquors into the 
state ; but the liquor law not being in force in France, 
this idea did not suggest itself to the poor, bewil¬ 
dered fellow, who still held up one article after another, 
from a nice linen handkerchief to a stocking with more 
holes in it than were necessary to get the feet in and 
out. He talked to me in French, and I talked to him 
in English; he pointed to the bag of suspicious articles, 
and I pointed to the diligence ready to start; he shook 
his finger, and I stamped my foot. The postilion 
mounted the horse and cracked his whip; a dozen 
heads were thrust out of the windows and doors of 
the carriage; and a dozen voices, in nearly as many 
different languages, vociferated with all their might. 
For a while, the chance of remaining over night at 
this horrible place, where I did not see room enough 
to put a bed, was very fair; but I concluded to try an 
experiment which I had tried once before with success. 
With an air of offended dignity, I took the bag from 
the hand of the officer, put my wet clothes into it, 
shouldered the bundle, marched with it into the dili¬ 
gence, and closed the door behind me with the air of 
a man who had been most egregiously abused. The 
officer opened his eyes wide; the postilion cracked his 
whip; the passengers shouted, “Bravo!” and the rest 
of the way I had the best seat in the diligence, and the 
most attention from my fellow-travelers. The last I 
saw of the officer, he was standing in the road, with 
his hand raised; and for aught I know, he stands 
there still. 

At dusk we arrived at Dijon, a tolerable town in 
France; and I repaired at once to a second-rate hotel, 


478 


EUROPA. 


near the center of the place, took supper, and then wan¬ 
dered out to spend an hour, before the starting of the 
cars. In the street I saw an Englishman, of huge pro¬ 
portions, with a heavy carpet bag, trying to inquire of 
a French woman the way to the railway station. The 
poor fellow was trembling lest he should be left behind, 
and the woman was endeavoring to comprehend his 
lingo, but in vain. I very uncivilly stopped, looked, 
and laughed. With a no very complimentary expres¬ 
sion of contempt for the ignorance of the woman, who 
knew as much of English as he did of French, he 
turned to me, and screwing up his lips into all sorts 
of shapes, tried to put enough French together to ask 
me how he should get to the cars. When, with a pro¬ 
digious effort, he had got his sentence out, I said, 
“What 1 ?” At that one word the man’s face bright¬ 
ened, and we went on together to the station. On 
entering the cars, he persisted in paying my fare; and 
all night long we rode together towards Paris, at which 
place we arrived at four o’clock the next morning. I 
there parted from my new acquaintance, who w T as a 
merchant of Birmingham, and who almost extorted 
from me a promise that I would spend a day with him 
before leaving the country. One who has never gone 
beyond the reach of his own language can hardly esti¬ 
mate the difficulties of a man who is in a strange coun- 
try, where he can hardly ask for a dish of soup without 
having set before him a tray of onions; and where, if 
he asks the way to the station-house, he is pointed to 
the penitentiary. One letter writer 1 gives a descrip¬ 
tion of a dilemma in which he was placed on Sunday, 
when he went from Leyden to Haarlem to attend 


1 Rev. Henry Colman. 


FKANCE AND ENGLAND. 


479 


church and hear the great organ. He was to go back 
that night to Leyden, where he had left some friends. 
In tiaveling about, he lost the way, and did not know 
how to get to the cars. He tried English, but in vain. 
He used French with no more success. He attempted 
German and Italian, of which he knew a little, but all 
to no purpose. The men laughed, the women pitied 
him, and the children thought they had found a crazy 
man. Some thought he was begging cold victuals, and 
some took him for a madman. At length, he recol¬ 
lected seeing over the railway station the word Spoor- 
weg, which, he thought, might be the Dutch for rail¬ 
road station ; so he began to shout, “ Spoorweg! Spoor- 
weg! ” and, to his delight, found that, by crying it all 
along, he was enabled to arrive in season to take the 
cars for Leyden; and he declared, that he should bless 
the word “ Spoorweg ” all his life. 

You have heard the case mentioned by some other 
traveler — I do not remember who — of the Frenchman, 
who, on arriving in England, was seized with sudden 
sickness. He knew that a certain part of his system 
was called the chest , and his dictionary told him that 
chest was a box to keep clothes in — a portmanteau. 
So, confounding the two, he called upon a medical man, 
who asked him where the pain seemed to be located. 
1,4 O,” said the poor man, 44 the pain is in my portmanteau. 
O, how r my portmanteau aches! ” he cried, laying his 
hand upon his chest. Another we are told of, who was 
endeavoring to address the Evangelical clergymen in 
Scotland. He had discovered that hare and barren , in 
some cases, meant the same thing; that a hare country 
was a barren one. So when he arose to speak, he, in 
his desire to compliment the aged, venerable, bald eccle¬ 
siastics before him, said he felt 44 much diffidence in 


480 


EUROPA. 


being called upon to address so many barren heads.” 
And you have also heard of the man in France, who, 
when one day almost exhausted, took some of the light 
wine of the country; and, in accordance with the sug¬ 
gestions of a friend, who knew as little of the lan¬ 
guage as he did, called sacre , instead of sucre , when 
he wished something to make the sour and simple bev¬ 
erage palatable. 

I did not stay in Paris but a few hours, and took 
the train after breakfast for London. The narrow, 
uncomfortable car which I entered contained one man, 
who, as soon as the train started, drew from his pocket 
a little book, and began to read, stopping now and 
then, and uttering an exclamation of delight. I soon 
found he was reading a Testament, and judged from 
the fact that he was a religious man. On entering 
into conversation, I found that he was a colporter of 
the Baptist persuasion, and a man of considerable in¬ 
formation and much apparent sincerity. He opened 
to my mind the condition of the Protestant religion in 
France, and gave me many facts illustrative of the zeal 
and devotion of the few and persecuted Christians of 
that misnamed republic. I asked his opinion of Louis 
Napoleon, but he seemed inclined to avoid a reply; but 
at length, with an expressive sigh, he answered, in in¬ 
different English, “ The president got no God.” What 
single sentence could more fully describe the perjured 
wretch who is now at the head of the French govern¬ 
ment ? Flis oath of office was one of the most solemn 
ever taken, but he violated it. The constitution of his 
country was a noble document, but he trampled it be¬ 
neath his feet. Liberty had commenced her reign in 
France, but he struck down her angel wings. He is, 
indeed, without a God. 


FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 


481 


I arrived in Calais at night, and at once took the 
steamer for Dover. We started in a terrific thunder 
storm, which raged up and down that narrow channel 
with uncontrollable fury. We were three hours in 
crossing; and three such hours I never passed in my 
life before. There were about forty of us in the cabin, 
a little, square room, not large enough to accommodate 
ten comfortably. The waves dashed over the decks, 
and we were shut down, without the least ventilation. 
The steamer was small, and, under the violence of the 
waves, seemed to be knocked about like a chip in a 
tempest. Most of the passengers were French, who 
were going over to the great exhibition, and many of 
them were very much alarmed. And, indeed, it did 
seem as if we should go to the bottom. Our little boat 
seemed to be standing now* on one end, and then on the 
other; now poised on a watery pinnacle, and anon 
buried deep in the trough of the sea, while far above 
us the angry waves were heard roaring in their terrible 
might. Of the forty persons shut up in the cabin, I 
believe I was the only one who was not sea-sick; and 
I was saved from it only by the sport which the ludi¬ 
crous scenes furnished. Here were men and women 
vomiting, some in bowls, some on the floor, and some 
in the hats and bonnets of friends; young ladies lying 
down on the floor, drabbling fine silk dresses in the 
filth, in the wildest consternation; the French chatter¬ 
ing most outrageously, and uttering the most hideous 
outcries; the steward running from one to another 
with the consoling exclamations, “No danger! ” 
“ Don’t be skeered! ” “ Get there soon! ” with which 
he endeavored to comfort the wretched creatures, who 
imagined they were about to perish. In the midst of 
all this, the stove fell down, bringing with it our only 

61 oo 


482 


EUR OP A, 


lamp, leaving us in total darkness. Then was such an 
outcry as I never heard, which, until another light was 
brought and order restored, was truly terrible. The 
horrors of a whole voyage across the Atlantic did not 
equal the scenes of that one evening, into three hours 
of which were crowded all the awfulness of the sea 
storm and all the danger of shipwreck. 

On arriving at Dover, we repaired to the custom¬ 
house, where our baggage was examined. I had in 
my bag a little reprint of an English work which I 
had purchased in Venice, and the margin of every 
page of which I had crowded with notes, which were 
of no small value to me. The rude, burly fellow who 
examined my little stock of goods perceived this book, 
and before I could remonstrate, coolly tore it to pieces, 
and threw the fragments upon the floor. 

That night I remained in Dover, and in the morn¬ 
ing started in an early train for London, and arrived 
in time to breakfast with some of my friends, who were 
just sitting down to their morning meal. Two or three 
weeks I remained in London, visiting the Crystal Pal¬ 
ace, attending the sittings of the Peace Congress, wan¬ 
dering about among the stores, churches, and houses, 
making valuable acquaintances, and receiving much 
desirable information. Some of the things which I 
saw, and some of the places which I visited, I have 
described in a former chapter; and the rest I will not 
weary you to detail. Of all the countries in Europe, 
England is the greatest and the best; of all sovereigns, 
Victoria is the most worthy of affection; and though 
there are stains upon her administration, and though 
there are wrongs and abuses beneath the shadow of 
her throne, yet no one who has looked upon her sweet 
countenance, and beheld the greatness of her empire, 


FRANCE AND ENGLAND. 


483 


can withhold the expression, “ God save the queen/’ 
We may not respond to every sentiment of her own 
poet laureate , 1 contained in the ode with which he has 
dedicated to her majesty one of his latest works; and 
yet, in the present state of Europe, we know not how 
to utter any other wish. 

11 Revered Victoria, you that hold 
A nobler office upon earth 
Than arms, or power of brain, or birth 
Could give the warrior kings of old,— 

“ I thank you that your royal grace 
To one of less desert allows 
This laurel, greener from the brows 
Of him that uttereth nothing base; 

“ And should your greatness, and the care 
That yokes with empire, yield you time 
To make demand of modern rhyme, 

If aught of ancient worth be there, — 

« Take, madam, this poor book of song ; 

For though the faults were thick as dust 
In vacant chambers, I could trust 
Your sweetness. May you rule as long,— 

“ And leave us rulers of your blood 
As noble till the latest day ! 

May children of our children say, 

4 She wrought her people lasting good ; — 

“ 1 Her court was pure ; her life serene; 

* God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; 

A thousand claims to reverence closed 
In her as mother, wife, and queen. 


1 Alfred Tennyson. 


484 


EUEOPA. 


“ 1 She brought a vast design to pass, 

When Europe and the scattered ends 
Of our fierce world were mixed as friends 
And brethren in her halls of glass; — 

“ ‘ And statesmen at her council met, 

Who knew the seasons, when to take 
Occasion by the hand, and make 
The bounds of freedom broader yet, — 

“ ‘ By shaping some august decree 

Which kept her throne unshaken still, 
Broad-based upon her people’s will, , 

And compassed by th’ inviolate sea.’ ” 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


485 


XXXVIII. 

THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 

From London to Liverpool, where I tarried a few 
days, visiting Chester, Birkenhead, and other places of * 
interest in the vicinity, I went, and secured my place 
in the steamer which was to bear me to my own dear 
native land. I embarked on board the Europa, July 
29, and passing out of the North Channel by the Isle 
of Man, the coasts of merry England and green Ire¬ 
land faded from our view. Farewell, Liverpool, Bir¬ 
kenhead, the Mersey, and the rough, boisterous chan¬ 
nel. Welcome, wide, deep, billowy ocean, for ye bear 
me to kindred and clime, to the loved scenes of youth, 
and the dear delights of home. 

Sunday came — a dull, irksome day. We had no 
religious service on board, and the passengers went 
moping about, half sea-sick, sad and lonesome. A 
week rolled away — a stupid week. There were no 
storms, no vessels in sight, not even a sea serpent to 
furnish us amusement. Another Sunday came, and 
we assembled in the cabin to hear the English church 
service read by the captain, and a sermon appended to 
it by Rev. Alexander J. Sessions, of Salem. The dis¬ 
course was from these words — “ The kingdoms of 
this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord.” 1 
The preacher attempted to show that the religion of 


oo * 

\ 


1 Rev. xi. 15. 


486 


EUROPA. 


Christ would ultimately prevail in this sin-ruined 
world. He argued, 1. That our hearts prophesy this 
better day; 2. The events of history teach it; 3. The 
Scriptures predict it. The style of Mr. Sessions is very 
peculiar, adapting him rather to a learned and select 
audience than a promiscuous one. He has been absent 
from home nearly two years, traveling in the East. 

One evening, just as the sun was setting, we had a 
fine view of an iceberg. It was supposed to be five 
or six miles distant; and those whose practiced vision 
was accustomed to measure objects at sea said it was 
about four hundred and fifty feet high. It presented 
a very beautiful appearance, as the motions of our 
vessel brought it between us and the sinking sun, 
whose last beams, falling upon it, adorned it with 
all the colors of the rainbow. 

The only striking incident which occurred on our 
way home took place on the night of the second Sab¬ 
bath we were out. I had retired to rest about mid¬ 
night, and soon after was started from a disturbed 
sleep by a slight shock, which was followed by confu¬ 
sion on deck, and a backing of the wheels of the 
steamer. That monstrous iceberg which we had seen 
the evening before rushed into the mind, and the idea 
that we had struck a mass of floating ice w r as not at 
all comfortable. I hastened on deck, and in a moment 
learnt that we had struck a vessel instead of an ice¬ 
berg, and the steamer was running back to see what 
damage had been done. Sad were our feelings as 
we gathered on deck, straining our eager eyeballs to 
gather the first signs of the wreck. In a few minutes, 
we saw the vessel, and the boats were at once put off 
to the rescue, and soon fourteen men were brought on 
board. The vessel proved to be the fishing schooner 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


487 


Florence, of Wellfleet, Lot Higgins, master, a craft of 
eighteen tons, manned by fifteen hands, and having on 
board two hundred and fifty barrels of mackerel. Her 
only boat was smashed at the onset, and when the boats 
of the steamer reached her, one of the men had disap¬ 
peared. Had the night been dark, or stormy, or had 
the steamer been five minutes longer in returning, all 
on board the wreck would have perished. The men 
were brought on board, destitute of clothing, having 
barely escaped with their lives. The cause of this sad 
disaster I do not pretend to know. The night was 
light, the vessel could be seen at nearly a quarter of a 
mile distant, her light was up, and as she saw the 
steamer coming, a gun was fired. 

And it is a wonder that no more disasters of this 
kind occur. The night after leaving Halifax was a ter¬ 
rible one. A dense fog enveloped us all night, and a 
vessel could not be seen one hundred feet ahead. The 
fog bell could be heard only a short distance, and the 
steamer was ploughing through the waves at the rate 
of thirteen miles an hour. When the morning dawned, 
and the fog cleared away, we found ourselves in the 
midst of a fleet of fishing vessels; and it seemed a 
miracle that they all escaped. The Europa was the 
steamer which ran down an emigrant ship a few years 
since, by which about one hundred lives were lost. 

We put into Halifax, and stopped about three hours. 
This is a dirty town, full of pigs and dogs, and has a 
dead, decaying look. We went up into the place to see 
what we could, and found a few soldiers ; a great many 
negroes, most of them refugees from oppression in this 
boasted and boasting land of freedom; one or two good- 
looking edifices, and a large number of unpainted, di¬ 
lapidated wooden houses, which seem about ready to 


488 


EUROPA. 


tumble down upon the heads of the occupants. Three 
hours are enough for a stranger to see the whole town, 
and to make up his mind that he never wants to see it 
again. On hights back of the place is a fine fortifica¬ 
tion, and one or two Highland regiments are quartered 
here. What use these are put to, no one knows ; and 
they must be a set of lazy fellows to endure such a life. 
I can see how a soldier can love the excitement of 
battle, and the din of war, but how an enterprising 
regiment can exist in Halifax I do not see. 

We arrived in Boston after a short passage of ten 
days and ten hours, and once more gazed upon the wel¬ 
come and familiar sights in Boston harbor. The rest 
you know; the kindly greeting, the pleasant words, 
and all the dear delights of home. I saw abroad many 
a fair land, but none so dear as my own country. I saw’ 
many churches, with spacious aisles and dim arches, 
but none like the more homely and less ostentatious 
one in which ordaining hands were laid upon my head, 
and in which I have preached so many happy years. I 
saw many kind friends and pleasant faces abroad, but 
none so pleasant and so kind as those to wdiom I 
returned after a short wandering. 

44 Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said, 

4 This is my own, my native land ’ ? ” 

In looking back over the countries of Europe, we can¬ 
not fail to perceive that great events are soon to trans¬ 
pire, which will agitate the world. The position assumed 
by Louis Napoleon in France cannot be long sustained, 
and doubtless thousands in that fickle and irresponsi¬ 
ble nation would glory in the idea of his assassination, 
which, sooner or later, is likely to take place. He may, 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


489 


however, live long enough to convulse the continent, 
and drench with blood every tottering throne. That he 
aims at imperial honors and kingly prerogatives none 
can doubt. His administration is a reign ; his govern¬ 
ment is a usurpation; and his constitution is the edict 
of an unprincipled despot. A Protestant missionary, 1 
who has been obliged to flee from his own country to 
Brussels, writes of the usurper as follows: “ They 
accept the peace he gives without loving himself. The 
good effected by him is received with pleasure, in view 
of its results, but without enthusiasm for himself. He 
is loved as one loves the gendarme , who puts a robber 
in prison; he is esteemed as one esteems a commissary 
of the police, who maintains order in a town. His fetes 
are brilliant, but without soul — without heart; the 
gas burns brilliantly ; the lips ery, Vive Napoleon ; but 
it is felt to be a matter of course there, and a heartless 
cry elsewhere; and if a crowd presses around the presi¬ 
dent, it is not to defend his person, but to ask for 
places. It must be conceded, that this state of things 
proves as much against the nation as against Louis 
Napoleon. If nations were moral, immoral govern¬ 
ments would not be of long continuance. 

“ The Bomish clergy continue to be the very humble 
servants of Louis Napoleon. His name has been intro¬ 
duced into their prayers, in the place formerly occupied 
by the king or the republic. The pope’s words are 
cited in entire approval of the coup d etat. On the 
other hand, the miracles, temporarily suspended, begin 
to revive. The president compliments the bishops, the 
bishops praise the president; and while the speech of 
the Bomish clergy at the reception on the 1st of 


62 


1 Rev. Mr. Roussel. 


490 


ETJROPA. 


January is fully reported, not a word is said of the 
address from the Protestant consistory. The success 
of Napoleon encourages the German government. The 
Emperor of Austria has taken away the constitution, 
and the government vexes the Lutherans. 

“ On the other hand, read what the Romish clergy 
are permitted to publish. I give you a faithful abridg¬ 
ment from a Catholic journal. 4 Our missionaries have 
found an admirable method of converting pagans by 
thousands. They have established in China a phar¬ 
macy, where they give medical advice and remedies 
gratuitously to children. Then, as the converted Chi¬ 
nese employed in this dispensary are very skilful in 
determining, by inspection of the thumb, whether the 
malady is mortal, we have an admirable method of bap¬ 
tizing these little creatures at the point of death. The 
Catholic physician, in administering the remedy, takes 
a sponge saturated with water, and squeezes it, in the 
guise of a medicine, on t the head of the infant, and the 
dying child is saved.’ ” 

Perhaps the state of France has never been more de¬ 
plorable than at the present time. Vice abounds, and 
poverty has taken the place of prosperity and industry. 1 
The people have lost confidence in the government and 
in each other, and the army rules from the Tuileries to 
the Boulevards. The prospect of a great European war 

1 The Westminster Review classi- In easy circumstances, 550,000 
fies the people of France in the fol- In moderate circumstances, 4,200,000 
lowing manner, and if this classifica- Gaining a decent but un- 
tion be correct, we have a view of certain living, 6,000,000 

the social condition of that unfortu- Gaining a scanty and un- 
nate nation, in which one out of every certain living, 16,000,000 

nine persons is a pauper, and where Living in extreme indi- 
one half of the people are barely fed gence, 5,000,000 

and clothed: — Paupers, thieves, and oth- 


Millionaires, 
Rich men. 


50,000 

200,000 


ers, 


4,000,000 


36,000,000 



THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


491 


increases every day, and the prediction of Napoleon, 
that Europe will soon become republican or Cossack, 
seems like to be verified in this our age. England, free 
and glorious in her might, seems to be almost the only 
obstacle to the usurpations of the ambitious tyrants 
of Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg. She is strength¬ 
ening her fortifications, increasing her navy, disciplining 
her army, and preparing for whatever may occur in the 
future. In the emergency she will look across the ocean 
for help; she will appeal away from tyrants to her giant 
“daughter of the west,” and with firm faith in the 
God of the free, will battle for human rights. A lace 
London journal 1 foresees the time, and utters its voice 
in the most stirring strains. 

i 

“ Gigantic daughter of the west, 

We drink to thee across the flood : 

We know thee most, we love thee best; 

For art thou not of British blood ? 

Should War’s mad blast again be blown, 

Permit not thou the tyrant powers 

To fight thy mother here alone, 

But let thy broadsides roar with ours. 

Hands all round ! 

God the tyrant’s cause confound ! 

To our great kinsman of the west, my friends, 

And the great name of England, round and round! 

“ Arise, our great Atlantic sons, 

When war against our freedom springs ! 

O, speak to Europe through your guns — 

They can be understood by kings ! 

You must not mix our queen with those 
That wish to keep the people fools ; 

Our freedom’s foemen are her foes — 

She comprehends the race she rules. 


1 London Examiner. 


492 


EUROPA. 


Hands all round ! 

God the tyrant’s cause confound ! 

To our dear kinsman of the west, my friends, 

And the great cause of freedom, round and round/’ 

The prayer of every Christian should go up to God 
that he would avert any such calamity as is threatening 
in the signs which have brought out these forcible 
verses. 

Nor can we foretell what will be the result of the 
movement which is now going on in the Romish 
church. The Catholic masses in Europe are in an 
agitated and troubled state, and a rupture between the 
pope and the people is liable to come at any moment. 
In the mean while, the most strenuous efforts are being 
made all through Europe to keep the Bible away from 
the common people. The living and the dying are 
denied its hallowed light, and deprived of its holy effi¬ 
cacy. Letters from Europe are filled with accounts 
of Popish efforts to quench the fires of truth. One 
traveler, 1 writing from Italy, says, “ At Nice, a highly- 
educated gentleman, a graduate of Paris, gave instruc¬ 
tions in my family. The unhappy man attempted sui¬ 
cide, but he was saved and taken to a hospital. I 
visited him there, [this was in 1842,] and read the 
Scriptures to him, to which he listened with great 
pleasure. Remember this was a gentleman, and not a 
poor person, who might be thought liable to be easily 
misled. The Bishop of Nice applied to the governor 
of the city, Monsieur de Maistre, to prevent my visits, 
whom I knew intimately, who had dined in my house, 
and who had declared to me that it 4 was a calumny to 
say that Roman Catholics are prevented from reading 


1 Sir Culling Eardly. 


THE VOYAGE— HOME AGAIN. 


493 


the Scriptures.’ My friend, Monsieur de Maistre, at the 
bishop’s request, ordered that I should not be admitted 
to visit the (supposed) dying man. I remonstrated with 
him, in his own palace, by the hour together, several 
times. At last he offered to go to the hospital with me. 
I assented, if I might, in his presence, read the Bible to 
the dying man. That he refused, and I never saw the 
poor gentleman again.” 

In Hungary, the cause of evangelical truth is opposed 
at every step, and the enemies of the Bible are doing 
all they can to rid the country of its influence. A mis¬ 
sionary, 1 writing from Pesth, says, “A terrible blow 
has been struck at the mission, and yet the Lord may 
bring good out of the seeming evil. Two imperial 
orders from Vienna compel us all instantly to quit the 
Austrian territory. Every effort with our embassy and 
the government has failed even to ameliorate the se¬ 
verity of the edict. If we are not on the way to-mor¬ 
row, we shall be expelled by military force. My youngest 
child is two months old; my second youngest sixteen 
months. Mr. Smith’s little daughter is in very deli¬ 
cate health; and both of us handed in medical certifi¬ 
cates, that a journey in the very severest winter season 
endangered Mrs. Wingate’s and several other members 
of the families’ lives — all in vain. In six short days, 
all our arrangements have had to be completed. The 
school, as yet, is untouched. In these circumstances, 
we have no resource but to set out. The Lord will 
undertake for us. Here is nothing but weeping and 
wailing. We trust soon to render an account of our 
transactions, and of the persecutions and cruelties which 
have been perpetrated. Brother Edwards is in a still 


1 Mr. Wingate. 


PP 


I 


494 EUROPA. 

more dreadful position. It is supposed here that we 
are on the point of war with Great Britain. Fear not 
for the mission to the Jews. We doubt not the ship 
will safely pass through this storm.” 

In Sweden, the enslaved people are groaning be¬ 
neath the wrongs and curses of the establishment; and 
a writer from Copenhagen gives the following doleful 
description, in a long and interesting letter to an Eng¬ 
lish journal: 1 “ The bloody and bigoted intolerance 
of the Swedish church laws, by which Swedish Lu¬ 
theranism is pinned to the earth a helpless slave in the 
hands of the civil power, while the laity sink into the 
serfs of the police church, has, during the last ten 
years, caused the emigration of thousands of the 
‘ Pietist ’ peasantry of the northern provinces — a se¬ 
vere loss to a country like Sweden. We now learn 
that this movement is extending to the south of 
Sweden, and that a large emigration to America will 
commence next summer from Skane. A writer in a 
Swedish paper says, 4 We have become so persuaded 
that no good object, least of all religious liberty, can 
be gained in our country, except at a snail’s pace, that 
we prefer to leave it altogether. Spectators of the way 
in wdiich the population of Ireland has sunk from nine 
millions to six ought to reflect before they abandon 
themselves, body and soul, to a system of reaction.’ 
King Oscar has hitherto taken no step towards free¬ 
dom of conscience in Sweden. If he finds that the 
present system will materially diminish the number of 
his tax payers, he may be induced to alter his policy. 
That the Swedes themselves do not boldly take the 
matter in hand, as a question of common civil right, 
is most amazing.” 


1 London Morning Chronicle. 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


495 


The German papers state that the cause of truth is 
suppressed there; and in one account we have the fol¬ 
lowing precious item: “ One of the most respectable 
citizens of Schweinfurt, and member of a religious 
communion dissolved by the government, declined to 
have his children confirmed according to the rites of 
the state church, and was informed that if he persisted 
in keeping them away, he would be arrested.” 

In Austria, the flame of persecution burns with 
great fury; and a beloved man, 1 whose name is dear 
to all lovers of religion and liberty, writes as follows: 
“ On the 20th April, eleven of our brethren, and five 
other persons assembled with them at Vienna, were 
suddenly arrested and cast into prison; but they have 
since been liberated, owing to the intercessions of a 
person of high influence. Another case of persecution 
has occurred in the grand duchy of Mecklenburg, and 
we have every reason to fear that the evangelical 
clergy in the Lutheran church have been its chief in¬ 
stigators. Brother Bues, our missionary at Wismar, 
was in the first instance banished from the country for 
preaching and seducing the people from the state 
church. Some time later, another brother was ban¬ 
ished from Ludwigslust, the summer residence of the 
grand duke, for having instructed a few of the chil¬ 
dren of our members from the Bible, on the Lord's 
day; and, finally, the resident members have been 
heavily fined for continuing to hold religious assem¬ 
blies. The government has made known its determina¬ 
tion to suppress, and, if possible, entirely put an end 
to, our sectarian movements. It might be well if our 
British brethren were once more to exert their influ- 


1 Rev. J. G. Oncken. 


496 


EUROPA. 


ence, on behalf of our persecuted brethren, by sending 
an earnest remonstrance to the grand duke, and by 
giving publicity to these barbarous facts.” 

To show how much liberty men have in the classic 
land, we have only to refer to the fact which was 
brought to us but a few days ago in the following 
words, which show that even a man’s official connec¬ 
tion with our distinguished government will not save 
him from persecution, if he makes, sells, or gives 
away a book which does not indorse the divine nature 
of the Virgin Mary: “ Dr. King, the eminent Amer¬ 
ican missionary, and the United States’ consul at 
Athens, in Greece, has been sentenced to fifteen days’ 
imprisonment, and to expulsion from the country, for 
having published a book to prove that divine honors 
should not be paid to the Virgin Mary. His convic¬ 
tion is said to have been procured by foreign influence, 
to be against the law and the evidence, and contrary 
to the Greek constitution, which guaranties religious 
toleration.” 

These facts and figures show us, to some extent, the 
general hostility of Europe to the Bible, which only 
can make good government and sound national pros¬ 
perity. The pope has condemned it, and in his en¬ 
cyclical letter banished it from his vast dominion; and 
kings and emperors are doing his will. The ordi¬ 
nances of religion are suppressed, and the law of God 
is despised. The records of missions assure us, that “ at 
Eimbeck, in Hanover, the assembly of the church has 
been twice dispersed by the police, and their pastor is 
threatened with a prosecution in case he ventures to 
hold another religious service. In Baden, though the 
Jesuits have the largest liberty, our brethren are for¬ 
bidden to Iiold a meeting for worship. Another 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AGAIN. 


497 


brother has been expelled from Mecklenburg, and Mr. 
Niemitz, the pastor at Memel, in Prussia, has been 
forbidden to carry on a Sabbath school. Three com¬ 
plaints have been made against him for administering 
the Lord’s supper. But they are undismayed, confi¬ 
dent that as persecution in time past has not crushed 
the truth, it cannot now crush it. 

“ A late communication from Dr. Devan shows that 
the French authorities are more than ever openly hos¬ 
tile to evangelical effort. A colporter has been arrested 
and lodged in prison. Two pious soldiers have been put 
under arrest for reading the Scriptures and observing 
social worship, which had been the instrument of the 
conversion of two of their comrades. These desired 
baptism, which it was not thought prudent to admin¬ 
ister immediately under the circumstances. One of 
the native assistants of the mission has been threat¬ 
ened with prosecution for itinerancy. These may be 
but the beginning of sorrows. But ‘the wind blow- 
eth where it listeth—so is every one that is born of 
the Spirit.’ For those who are truly the Lord’s 
chosen, we have sympathy, but no fear; they are safe. 

' France claims our pity, for there is no safety to nations 
that war against the kingdom of Christ.” 

In England and Scotland, Romanists are making 
the most strenuous efforts to root out the old Cove¬ 
nanter faith, and break down the old Covenanter’s spirit. 
Convents and churches to Antichrist are rising on all 
sides; and the war has been carried into Parliament, 
and has raged up and down the land among the people. 

What the consequences of all this will be, no hu¬ 
man vision can foresee. All we have to do is to wait 
the result. While the enemy is at work, the Lord is 
lifting up a banner and setting a defence against him. 

63 pp* 


r 


498 EUROPA. 

Truth is girding herself for the contest, and the Bible 
is shedding its light in spite of prisons and flames. 
And on the truth which that Bible teaches we must 
rely. It is our only hope of freedom for the world; 
and if its light is extinguished, the whole system of 
civil society is in dense darkness. It makes our coun¬ 
try what it is, and gives to America its noblest endow¬ 
ments. We can but say with another, 1 “ Tell me 
where the Bible is, and where it is not, and I will write 
a moral geography of the world. I will show what, in 
all particulars, is the physical condition of that people. 
One glance of your eye will inform you where the 
Bible is, and where it is not. Go to Italy: decay, 
degradation, suffering meet you on every side. Com¬ 
merce droops, agriculture sickens, the useful arts lan¬ 
guish. There is a heaviness in the air; you feel 
cramped by some invisible power; the people dare not 
speak aloud; they walk slowly; an armed soldiery is 
around their dwellings; the armed police take from 
the stranger his Bible before he enters the territory. 
Ask for the Bible in the bookstores; it is not there, 
or in a form so large and expensive as to be beyond 
the reach of the common people. The preacher takes 
no text from the Bible. Enter the Vatican and in¬ 
quire for a Bible, and you will be pointed to some case 
where it reposes among prohibited books, side by side 
with the works of Diderot, Rousseau, and Voltaire. 
But pass over the Alps into Switzerland, and down the 
Rhine into Holland, and over the channel to England 
and Scotland, and what an amazing contrast meets the 
eye! Men look with an air of independence; there 
are industry, neatness, instruction for children. Why 


* Dr. William Adama, 


THE VOYAGE —HOME AG AIN". 


499 


this difference l There is no brighter sky; there are 
no fairer scenes of nature; but they have the Bible; 
and happy are the people who are in such a case, for 
it is righteousness that exalteth a nation.” 

If we have any thing to fear in this free, happy land, 
it is the influence of Romanism upon our liberal institu¬ 
tions. Already sentiments have been advanced, which, 
if carried out, will transform our government into as 
gross a despotism as ever was seen beneath the sun. 
If the Papist has a right to break faith with heretics; 
if the Pope of Rome, a temporal sovereign, has a right 
to absolve any American citizen from his oath of alle¬ 
giance to this nation and government; if a sect is rising 
in our midst who glory in the burning of Bibles, and 
who consider it the highest honor to break down the re¬ 
ligion of Jesus, — why, we may tremble lest our boasted 
land become another Erin, in w T hich famine stalks abroad, 
and poverty reigns without mitigation. Listen to the 
sentiments which have come thundering out from an 
American press, the hideous sentiments of the mind of 
a man 1 who claims America as his home; sentiments 
which contain a poison, which, if it could sink down 
into the hearts of freemen, — which, thank God, is im¬ 
possible,— would send the virus of death through all 
the veins and arteries of the whole social and political 
system under which we live. 

“ Protestantism is, no doubt, a heresy; but all 
heresy is at best only inchoate heathenism, and needs 
only time and freedom to become fully developed hea¬ 
thenism ; for it is the assertion of the natural against 
the supernatural, the secular against the spiritual, the 
Imman against the divine. Protestantism is heathenism 


* O. A. Brownson. 


500 


EUROPA. 


in its natural form, since the church, as ancient As¬ 
syrian, Chaldean, Egyptian, Greek, and Roman Gen- 
tilism, was the natural form of civilized heathenism 
before her. It is only the church that introduces into 
the world another than a heathen element; remove 
her, and nothing but heathenism does or can remain. 
The essence of all heathenism, whether before or since 
the Christian church, is in the emancipation of the 
flesh of the secular order, and the subjection of the 
spiritual. Protestantism, whatever its pretensions, is 
therefore really heathenism, and nothing else; or if it 
please its friends better, since it professes to believe in 
the Messiah, we will consent to call it carnal Judaism, 
which holds the Messiah to be a temporal instead of 
a spiritual prince, the founder of an earthly instead of 
a heavenly kingdom, places the secular above the spir¬ 
itual, and puts the creature in place of the Creator 
— the essential principle of all heathenism and of all 
idolatry. It bears the same relation to Christianity 
that carnal Judaism bore to spiritual Judaism. 

“We wish our readers to bear in mind that it is 
not religious bigotry, that it is not zeal for religion, 
that chiefly lights the fires of Protestant persecution, 
but zeal for the world, and determination to subor¬ 
dinate religion always and every where to the secular 
power. And, therefore, we lose all the breath we ex¬ 
pend in declaiming against bigotry and intolerance, 
and in favor of religious liberty, or the right of every 
man to be of any religion or of no religion, as best 
pleases him, which some two or three of our journal¬ 
ists would fain persuade the world is Catholic doctrine. 
Such declamations only tend to render Catholics indif¬ 
ferent to their faith, or to inoculate them with a false 
and fatal liberalism, as experience every day proves. 


THE VOYAGE — HOME AGAIN. 


501 


They produce no effect on Protestants, save so far as 
they may he regarded as indications of a tendency 
among us to abandon our religion, and turn Protestant 
or infidel. It is always folly to talk or reason of Prot¬ 
estants, taken as a body; as if they had religion, or 
cared a pin’s head for religion of any sort. Set them 
down always as modern heathens, and go and preach to 
them as the fathers did to the Gentiles, or you will 
never touch them. They will persecute you if they 
have the power, and regard you as of sufficient impor¬ 
tance to be persecuted, until you succeed in convincing 
them that heathenism is false and Catholicity is true, 
and that they are to live for heaven and not for earth. 
The great error into which we fall is that of considering 
Protestantism as a form of religion, and adhered to from 
religious motives. If such was ever the case, it is not 
now. With here and there an individual exception, 
Protestants constitute not a religious, but a political 
and social party; and what they say in reference to re¬ 
ligion, is said only in furtherance of their secular move¬ 
ments or desires, whether they themselves are distinctly 
conscious that it is so or not. 

“ Our first work should be to unprotestantize our¬ 
selves — a thing we shall not very readily do, if our 
popular writers take care to deny or suppress Catholic 
truth, as applicable to the secular order. Atheistical 
politics are well nigh universal, and, till we abandon 
them ourselves, we shall make poor headway against 
Protestantism, when we ourselves are afraid to assert 
the supremacy of the spiritual order. As that unity 
and Catholicity are effected and secured by the papacy, 
the real object of attack is the pope, and his spiritual 
authority, under God, over the whole secular order. 
The whole question is here. Give up or deny that 


502 


EUROPA. 


authority, and you give up or deny all that Protestantism 
really opposes, and embrace practically all that is living 
in it, and are Protestants in the only sense in which 
Protestants are worth counting. We must, therefore, 
if we mean to be Catholics, be truly—we like the word 
— Papists, and fearlessly assert the Papal supremacy.” 

Sentiments like these show that even in our land the 
great battle between freedom and tyranny is again to be 
fought, and the question of individual opinion, freedom 
of conscience, and the right of self-government, which 
our fathers supposed was settled long ago, is to be again 
contested on the very soil where they poured out their 
blood. What its result will be, no one who has faith 
in man, and in the progress of society, and in the strong 
arm of God, can doubt, — 

“ For freedom’s battle once begun, 

Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 

Though baffled oft, is ever won.” 

No intelligent person can travel through Europe, we 
think, without being forced to the conclusion, that Ko- 
manism is destructive to the best interests of every com¬ 
munity. He cannot fail to see evidences of its degrading, 
enslaving spirit, and he will trace the woes of many an 
unfortunate people to that great organization which 
ought to stretch out its hands and drop blessings upon 
the millions who fly to it for protection. His heart 
will be heavy, and his spirit will be sad, as he finds the 
professed church of God placing the iron fetters upon 
the limbs of the disciples, and crushing the energies of 
the people of God. As he approaches the Eternal City, 
he will behold new causes of grief, as he finds the glory of 
Pome gone, and all its shame and guilt yet remaining. 
He will leave the old man of the Vatican, who wears a 


THE VOYAGE —HOME* AGAIN. 


503 


paper cap, and is surrounded with a guard of foreigners 
with striped breeches; who rides on the shoulders of 
men, and requires the people to kiss his toe; who 
stands there amid the dead mummies from Egypt, and 
the dumb idols from Nimrod, and casts his bulls across 
the mountains and the seas, — he will leave this old 
man, and go out to the ruins of the past, and sit down 
alone, to wonder why Rome should exchange paganism 
for popery, the emperor for the pope. 

The part which is to be taken by our great confed¬ 
eracy of states none can misunderstand. It is the ex¬ 
ample of our own nation which has inspired the down¬ 
trodden people of continental Europe with the holy 
desire to be free; and in the light which emanates from 
our institutions are they to march forward, until the 
last chain is broken, and the last tyrant has been dis¬ 
en throned. We are not called to descend from the 
high position we occupy to contest a few feet of land, 
or battle for an empty name. Our flag need never float 
in the breezes of Italy, or be torn upon the plains of 
Germany, or flap in the wild and fitful blasts of an 
Alpine storm. The oppressed masses of the old world 
need our Bible more than money; our missionaries will 
conquer faster than our soldiers; the glad notes of sal¬ 
vation will be more effectual than the thunder of can¬ 
non. The greatest foe to human freedom is the church 
of Rome. It is her heel which is now on the prostrate 
form of liberty, and vain is every hope until her power 
is broken. The only weapon which can be used against 
her is the Bible. That she fears ; that she hates. She 
trembles more when a few colporters find their way into 
her territories, than when a hostile army is thundering 
at the gates of the Vatican. Our mission is to set the 
nations of Europe an example, and send them light. 


504 


EUROPA. 


The conquests we are to make are bloodless; our vic¬ 
tories are moral and mighty. No fire, no sword, no 
blast of war, but a calm, steady light, shining upon the 
blackness of the world’s long night, and a holy stream 
of information and truth, continually flowing forth to 
the world’s drear and desolate abodes. 

I bid adieu to my kind reader, with many thanks for 
his patience in following me through so many scenes of 
joy and sorrow; and if I have related any thing to in¬ 
struct or please, I shall be repaid for having transferred 
from the pages of my journal to the printed volume 
these hasty observations, which, I trust, may not be 
found to any considerable extent incorrect. 

































































































































































































































































































































































